


The Wolf of the North

by Wxlves



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: I'm planning this to be a long fic, Minor Character Death, Multi, so strap in boyos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-01-30 10:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 40,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21426463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wxlves/pseuds/Wxlves
Summary: "And why me?""You’re a symbol to your people, somebody this group can stand behind. More than that, you’re a symbol for the King."Here was everything he’d worked for, vengeance for his country, laid out in a plan far better than anything Aedion could have done alone. The weight of this responsibility now lay on him. 'Heavy is the head that wears the crown,' as his mother used to tell him, but a General’s sword seemed heavy enough to him.~Aedion Ashryver's life from age sixteen until his appearances in Queen of Shadows.[tags will be updated as the story continues][rating may change]
Relationships: Aedion Ashryver & Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien, Aedion Ashryver & Kyllian, Aedion Ashryver & Original Male Character(s), Aedion Ashryver/Kyllian, Aedion Ashryver/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Forging of the Wolf](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12722991) by [fuzzballsheltiepants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzballsheltiepants/pseuds/fuzzballsheltiepants). 

> This first chapter is a flashback to a younger time, the rest of the story will pick back up when he's older.

Aedion’s every breath burned, his throat raw from the late fall air. His muscles ached in protest as he ran, finally cresting the hill, footsteps close behind. Collapsing onto the grass at the top of the hill he whooped aloud, raising one fist to the gray sky. “I win!”

“No fair,” Aelin wheezed from where she’d collapsed too, several seconds behind him. “You’re older and you’re Fae.”

Aedion picked his head up to look at her. “You’re Fae too,” he pointed out. 

“I got magic, though, you got the body. You  _ always _ win every time we race and you’re stronger than half the grown-up soldiers.”

His pulse finally slowing, Aedion let his eyes drift shut. The breeze blowing down from the Staghorns added chill to the air and ruffled his hair, long grasses waving a greeting to the sky. “So cheat,” he finally replied. “Take a shortcut next time.”

“But then  _ that  _ isn’t fair,” Aelin huffed. 

“There will always be people who are stronger and faster, people born with an advantage you don’t have. You have to work around that to end up on top.”

“So I go through life being a cheater?”

“You don’t have to cheat, just find another way. If you find a different way that nobody else considered, you’ll probably finish ahead of them before they even know what happened.”

A moment of silence followed Aedion’s advice. He thought Aelin was ignoring him until she sighed. “How did you end up so smart?”

Aedion’s laugh cut through the air. “I just make things up as I go along and I’ve gotten good at  _ sounding _ smart.”

Aelin, having stood up, nudged his ribs with her toe. “Marion’s made chocolate cake and I want some. I’ll race you back.” Before he could respond or even get a hand under himself to stand, she leapt away. 

“Hey!” Aedion barked, the sound disappearing into the pines as he struggled to his feet and raced after his cousin. 


	2. Chapter 2

The rocking motion of the horse beneath him ceased, the change jolting him out of his memories. They had arrived; Aedion and the small contingency of soldiers who’d been sent to escort him. 

The loose, thin pants Aedion wore had been suitable for the gentle weather of the last war camp, nestled in the foothills of the southern Staghorns. Here, high in the northern mountains, a cold wind whipped straight through the fabric, chilling him. The weather was nothing new to him, born and raised in Terrassen, but his escort guard shivered in their plate armor. Dismounting, he was led into the officers’ tent where a uniformed lieutenant waited. 

“Aedion Ashryver.”

“Yes sir.” Aedion fixed his gaze straight ahead, not looking the man in the eyes. 

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we’ve moved you to this camp.” Aedion had indeed been wondering, thinking it possibly had something to do with his disciplinary record back at the last camp. There were likely files somewhere that detailed his several fights and irreverent remarks to commanding officers, none of which he regretted in the slightest. 

“Yes sir, I am,” he replied stiffly, hands clasped behind his back.

“This camp is where we bring many of our prospective officers. Captains, lieutenants, commanders…even generals have been made here.” The lieutenant’s gaze settled on Aedion until he was forced to make eye contact. The man’s face was fine-boned while small, dark eyes gave him the appearance of a rat. Aedion instantly disliked him. 

“You were brought here because you showed substantial, erm,  _ potential _ for leadership positions in Adarlan’s armies.”

Aedion’s breath caught in his throat. What he had worked for, pushed for, fought and killed for, was finally beginning to happen. He forced himself to not get ahead of the situation, the road ahead was tougher than the road that lay behind him. But still. 

The anger was bitter on the back of his tongue. He  _ would  _ become general and he  _ would  _ use that power for good. Only then could he make Adarlan pay for ghosts that cluttered his dreams, whispering their fantasies of revenge until the morning sun scared them off once again. 

Remembering a response was expected of him, he cleared his throat slightly. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t make me regret this, Ashryver.”

Aedion’s dislike of the man grew, barely hiding the curl of his lip as he strode back into the winter air. 

Back outside he was handed warmer clothes, a standard-issue sword and breastplate, and a bar of rough, brown soap by a reed-thin squire who refused to look him in the eyes. Leading Aedion to his tent he kept his eyes on the half-frozen ground, murmuring, “right here sir,” before scurrying away. 

The tent was typical to every war camp Aedion had seen since he was thirteen. A bedroll of thick furs lay in one corner, the other corner decorated with a crude wooden armor stand. He dropped his clothes, neatly folded (military habits die hard) on top of his cloak which was folded over once. On the extra space the cloak provided, Aedion placed his bag with the few possessions he had. An ornate dagger, a gift from Rhoe before Adarlan’s conquest, was one of his most prized possessions, second only to a small hand-carved wooden wolf his mother had made for him as a child. 

Emerging from his tent he found a young soldier, likely close to his age, who nodded to him in greeting. “The other recruits are training now, I’m to take you to them.” Aedion was lead to a training ring, a rough circle of sand surrounded by weapons racks. Several pairs were sparring while elder warriors looked on, fixing technique and barking orders. The soldier led him over to one older man. His hair was graying at the temples and crows feet marked his eyes but he stood tall, shoulders still bearing the muscled breadth of a man half his age. His gray eyes flickered over Aedion, assessing. 

“I assume you’re the famed Aedion Ashryver everyone’s been talking about.” 

Aedion shrugged a shoulder. “Didn’t know everyone’s been talking about me but nonetheless I’m honored.”

The man’s brows flicked upward at him but he didn’t comment on the snark in Aedion’s tone. Instead, he turned towards the ring and called out, “Abbas!” 

The young man who dropped his sword and came jogging over was near Aedion’s age, maybe a year or two older. Well-muscled and almost as tall as Aedion, he was clearly a seasoned warrior despite his young age, hands flecked with the scars that came from years of sword practice. A large, white scar just under his ear marred the otherwise smooth skin of his neck, standing out against dark skin. Dark hair hung halfway to his waist, twisted into dozens of small braids that had all been pulled together into one thick plait. 

Holding out a hand for Aedion to shake, he introduced himself as Kyllian. “Or just Abbas, my last name, if you like.” He had an easy way of moving and a sharp smile that made Aedion like him almost immediately, his dark eyes laughing even once his face sobered. 

The old man shared a small smile with Kyllian before turning back to Aedion. “I’ve heard tales about your skill, Ashryver. Abbas is our best fighter here ー let’s see how you hold out against him.”

Returning to the ring, Kyllian selected a long, curved blade. He bounced on his toes, long hair swaying as he grinned. “Don’t just stand there looking pretty, pick up a sword.”

Aedion huffed a laugh and stepped onto the sand, pulling a longsword off a weapons rack and giving it an experimental twirl. It was likely intended to be wielded with two hands but thanks to his Fae blood, even at sixteen Aedion was already larger, stronger, and faster than many of these men would ever be. 

Almost before he could react Kyllian went on the offensive, pressing hard and fast. Aedion’s instincts took over as metal sparked and their blades connected. He could see how Kyllian was the best. Not only was he strong but he was quick, avoiding Aedion’s slashes and parrying with ease. Aedion went on the defensive, keeping Kyllian at bay while he learned how he fought. 

He rarely left any body part exposed long enough for Aedion to get a blow in and his quick feet meant Aedion was constantly moving to keep up with him. Aedion marveled at how he made sword fighting look like a dance, his movements fluid and graceful even as sweat broke out on his brow. 

Stepping back and lowering their swords they paused a moment, each watching the other warily. Since they’d started a small audience had gathered, eager to see the new recruit pitted against their best. “You know, this is the longest anyone’s held out against me in a long while.”

Aedion’s lips curled in a smile. “I could say the same for you.”

Watching carefully, he saw the barest shift in Kyllian’s casual stance. Reacting on muscle memory alone, he twisted away from the blade as it cut past his cheek. Before Kyllian could recover and pull back as he had before, Aedion ducked under his guard and swept his feet from under him with the flat of his sword. 

Kyllian lay where landed in the sand for a few moments. When Aedion made the mistake of offering his hand to help him up, Kyllian grabbed his forearm in an iron grip and twisted with the force of his entire body. The war camp went upside down as Aedion was flipped onto his back, hitting the ground hard. Standing and brushing himself off, Kyllian laughed. “Never let your guard down, Ashryver.”

“You know I won that fight fair and square,” Aedion groaned, pushing himself off the sand with the barest wince. The pain that had radiated from his shoulder as he hit the ground was already fading, and he suspected the bruises wouldn’t stay for much longer either. 

Heading back over to the old warrior, Kyllian gestured towards Aedion. “He’s the best fighter I’ve ever seen. Strong, fast, and highly skilled.”

The warrior regarded Aedion with a look of grudging respect. “You fought well, boy.” Turning back to Kyllian he added, “he has Fae blood to thank for that strength, it’s impressive you didn’t get knocked on your ass even faster.”

Kyllians brows flew up as he whipped his head around to look at Aedion. Eyes flicking towards the old warrior, Aedion opened his mouth to ask how he knew. Anticipating his question, the warrior laughed. “You’re far larger than any other sixteen year olds I’ve ever met, trained warriors or otherwise, and strength and speed like you have shouldn't be possible. Not to mention that the Ashryver line hails from Wendlyn which has much stronger connections to the Fae than we do here; a magically gifted princess like your mother could certainly catch the eye of a Fae male.” 

“And how many other people have put that together?”

“Nearly anybody who means anything to this army knows about you, Ashryver.”

Aedion felt his heart in this throat. He supposed the signs were fairly obvious, but the thought that he may be restricted in what he could accomplish thanks to the King’s hatred of Fae…

Seeming to sense his worry, Kyllian broke the silence. “No need to scare the new kid, Byrne.”

Byrne, the warrior, seemed to like Kyllian, judging by irreverence in Kyllian’s tone that he let slide, along with the vaguely amused smile he sent him. “I’m in charge of training, it’s my job to scare boys like you into proper soldiers.”

“You couldn’t scare a fly,” Kyllian scoffed, sobering at Byrne’s expert glare. “Sorry, sorry. Nevermind. You’re plenty scary.” Aedion laughed as Kyllian avoided eye contact with the man.

“The day’s almost over. Go wash the dust from the road off yourself and find your way to the mess hall tent once you’re done.” Aedion gave a small salute to Byrne and offered a wink to Kyllian before turning on his heel to head back to his tent. 

~

The officers seated around the small wooden table were all displeased. “You’re telling me that on his first day a demi-fae prince of Terrassen beat our best fighter we’ve had in years.”

“Yes sir.”

“And that this demi-fae, known for insubordination, seems to be close with this…Abbas, as his file says? Another boy with a reputation for ill behavior?”

“Yes sir.”The messenger sent from the northern camp was squirming under the Adarlan General’s glare. 

“All due respect,” a lieutenant cut in, “but Ashryver and Abbas show too much promise to remove them from that camp. Would separating them help anything?”

“No,” the General snarled. “You will not separate them. Let them grow close, I think we could make a powerful duo out of those two. As for their insubordination, make sure any transgressions are punished with force. Beat those habits out of them before they settle too deep.”

The lieutenant ventured to speak again, a testament to his bravery. “Are you not worried about them together? Two sons of conquered nations with a history of rebellious behavior? That could-” 

The General interrupted once more. “I’m not worried about their loyalty.” The finality in his tone suggested that this conversation was over. “I have a contingency plan for that.” 

He dismissed the other officers with a wave of his hand, gleaming black ring catching the firelight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to update chapters fairly regularly but it all depends on chapter length. Not all of them will be as long as this one


	3. Chapter 3

Aedion had more bruises than he’d ever had at one time. Training had been hand-to-hand barefisted fighting today and despite the fact that he’d beat every fighter they put before him, many had gotten hits of their own in. Kyllian laughed at Aedion’s wince as he sat on the long wooden mess hall bench. “Big strong Fae can’t take a hit?” he teased. 

Aedion sent him a rude gesture. “You don’t look so good yourself,” he retorted, mostly referring to the swollen black eye Kyllian sported.

When Kyllian just laughed once more, Aedion caught a glimpse of firelit-gold in his mouth and leaned over to look close. At Kyllian’s questioning look he shrugged. “Thought I saw metal in your mouth.”

“You hadn’t noticed before?”

“Noticed what?”

Opening his mouth wide and tilting his head back, Kyllian stuck out his tongue. A gold piercing glimmered there, matching the gold in the upper curve of his ear. As opened his mouth another man slid onto the bench on his other side. 

“Nobody wants to see your disgusting piercing, Abbas.”

Kyllian was indignant. “He  _ asked _ to see it. You’re the only one who thinks it’s disgusting, Erikson.”

Erikson, known only by his last name (he refused to tell anyone his first), was one of the best archers Aedion had seen, though his hand-to-hand combat was excellent too. Aedion had black and blue ribs to prove it. 

“Tell me you didn’t, Ashryver. You’ll only encourage him.”

Aedion shrugged apologetically. “I  _ did  _ ask. I think it’s pretty neat.”

“Yeah, you’d think so,” Erikson grumbled into his food, teasing. It was Aedion’s turn to be indignant. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means-” 

Erikson is cut off as another man settles onto Aedion’s left. “It means you get along because you’re both dirty half breeds.”

Aedion faced the newcomer, blood roaring in his ears. “Excuse me?” 

He could hear Erikson behind him muttering, “sure as hell not what  _ I _ was going to say.”

The man was either brave or stupid because he looked at the two hundred pounds of muscle staring him down and didn’t balk. “As for Kyllian, his father was an Adarlanian soldier who wouldn’t stick around and his mother was a freed slave from the southern continents.” 

Kyllian snarled from behind Aedion. The sound made Aedion’s protective instincts flare. “You leave him out of this.”

With a cruel laugh the man turned to Aedion. “And you… your mother apparently spread her legs for the first pretty Fae male who crossed her path.”

Aedion didn’t know what he was doing until Kyllian was pulling him back. His fists were bloodied and the man was groaning on the ground, blood covering his chin and leaking sluggishly from a cut over his brow.

By now a commanding officer had run over and grabbed Aedion’s ear like a disobedient child, pulling him from the tent. Aedion growled, yanking his ear free. “I’ll walk by myself, thanks.” 

He was practically shoved into the commander’s tent. The man was seated behind a desk, scratching away with a quill; when Aedion’s huge form stumbled through the tent flaps he stood quickly, nearly spilling the ink across his papers. “What the hell is this?” he demanded. 

“He was fighting, sir.”

The commander turned to Aedion with his brows drawn together. “Is this true?”

“Yes sir. A soldier called another soldier and I ‘dirty half breeds.’ ”

“Frankly, I don’t care  _ why _ you were fighting.”

Aedion curled his lip back from his teeth. “He’s using racial slurs and you don’t care?”

“I can’t expect every man in this camp to like everyone else but I had  _ hoped _ I could expect everyone to keep a level head.” Blood boiling, Aedion swallowed down the retort on his tongue. “I can’t have my men fighting amongst themselves, you have to know it does not get taken lightly here.”

Aedion had a feeling he knew where this was going. “I’m the one getting lashes for this?”

“Because this is the first time you’ll only get five, however I  _ was  _ instructed to be especially heavy-handed with you. It seems you have quite the record.” As he spoke, the commander pulled a short length of leather from somewhere in his desk. Aedion sighed, pulling his shirt over his head and turning so his back faced the commander. “We’ll make this easy, Ashryver. Count to five for me.”

Count to five? The commander could make him strip halfway and bear the lashing but counting was a humiliation he would not tolerate. Aedion would not give him the satisfaction. As the leather bit into his skin he clenched his jaw. It was far from the worst pain in his life, it wasn’t even the worst lashing he’d earned, but he knew the pain would build the longer this went on.

When Aedion stayed silent the commander only said mildly, “we’ll do this until you count, Ashryver.”

The second blow was slightly harder but still Aedion refused to count. 

Three. 

Four. 

Blood was beginning to drip into the waistband of his pants. 

Five. 

Six. 

Only after the seventh did the commander speak again. “That was not an idle threat. I will continue until you count.”

Eight. 

Nine. 

Aedion’s nostrils flared in pain, nails digging deep into his palms. 

Ten. 

The eleventh lash cut right along an earlier one, reopening it even deeper than before. That was when Aedion’s control slipped and he roared in pain. He could feel the blood dripping down his back, sticky and quickly cooling in the cold tent. Just as he clenched his jaw, braced for another blow, a young woman slipped into the tent. She looked to be eighteen and wore the simple clothes and apron common to the war camps’ cooks and washerwomen. Her eyes flickered to Aedion with alarm before she turned to the commander. “Sir, you’re needed.”

Her voice swam in Aedion’s ears, it seemed far away through the haze of pain fogging his mind. She didn’t say what the commander was needed for, but the urgency in her tone seemed to indicate something dire, or at the very least more dire than lashing a misbehaving soldier.

As soon as the commander left, bloodied leather left on his desk as a gory reminder of what he’d done, Aedion picked his shirt up from the ground and staggered out. Lifting his arms to pull the shirt on was too painful with the wounds along his shoulders, so instead he stumbled into the autumn night bare chested. The tears that had threatened to spill with the last few lashes finally slipped down his face. Wiping them away with the back of his hand, angry at his own weakness, Aedion resisted the urge to scream into the night sky. Instead, he paused to look up, the stars twinkling back at him with a jolly obliviousness. Finally finding his tent, he dropped onto his bedroll with a groan. Stretched out on his stomach, he was asleep despite the pain only seconds later. 


	4. Chapter 4

Aedion awoke to the sun, its low angle allowing the light directly into his tent with blinding accuracy. Groaning, he rolled over, shooting up with a hiss of pain the second his injured back touched the ground. Realizing how late it was he cursed, pulling his shirt on over the dried blood and tugging his boots onto his feet as he half-ran from the tent. 

Out of breath and ignoring the pain that lanced through his body, he arrived at the training ring just as the rest of the men did. Aedion caught Erikson’s eye over other soldiers’ heads (no easy feat considering the man’s short stature) and shook his head at the questioning look he received. Kyllian was nowhere to be seen.

The weapons master was halfway through barking his orders before Kyllian slipped up behind Aedion, handing him a large hunk of bread he’d likely palmed from the mess hall. Aedion nodded his thanks, eating as surreptitiously as possible while avoiding the attention of the weapons master. Once he’d tired of hearing his own voice, the weapons master sent them off to spar.

Sliding a long hunting knife from its leather sheath Kyllian gestured Aedion to come closer. “What the hell happened to you last night? After you got dragged out of dinner you didn’t come back. When you didn’t come to breakfast I went to your tent but by then you’d come here.”

Aedion could smell how worried Kyllian was but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Instead he stepped back, putting space between them as he rolled his neck, flipping and catching the dagger he’d slid from his boot. On the balls of his feet he bounced slightly, indicating he was ready to begin. 

With a heavy sigh Kyllian resheathed his dagger and tossed it aside, putting his fists up in a defensive position. Aedion shrugged at his choice of weapon (or lack thereof) but darted in anyways with a quick slash. Kyllian twisted his body to avoid the blow, grabbed Aedion’s arm as it cut through the air past him, and twisted hard. The knife fell from his grip and the weapons master barked, “really, Ashryver?” from where he stood across the sand. 

Taking a step back, Kyllian shook his head. “Whatever happened, it can’t have been good. You’re either injured or distracted because you’re moving slower than my dead grandmother and I just disarmed you in seconds.”

Aedion pressed his lips into a thin line as he stooped to pick up his knife. “I can’t tell you right now,” he lied. 

“Can’t or won’t?” Kyllian snorted, real anger rippling across his features. “You’re a stubborn ass, you know that?”

His heart breaking at Kyllian’s frustration and hating himself even more for causing it, Aedion only clenched his jaw tight.

By the time the day’s training ended Aedion had been knocked around by Kyllian several times, all but one without a weapon in the shorter man’s hands. Anger was set into Kyllian’s features as he pulled Aedion aside. “I don’t know why you won’t tell me what happened and honestly, I respect you too much to try and force you to. Still, I won’t sit around and act like nothing’s wrong when you’re clearly hurting. If you want to stop being emotionally constipated, you know where my tent is.”

He turned to leave and Aedion grabbed his bicep, against his better judgment. At the expert glare he received, he released the arm but Kyllian, thankfully, stayed. He must have seen something in Aedion’s eyes because his impatience softened slightly. 

“Let me- I need to just show you something.” Kyllian allowed himself to be led away, tagging close behind Aedion as he made his way to his own tent. 

When, in the privacy of his tent Aedion stripped off his shirt, Kyllian let out a long breath. His voice shook with anger. “They whipped you?” Aedion didn’t turn, only nodded from where he stood with his back to Kyllian. “You were beat this badly just for fighting?”

“I was supposed to count to five as he did but I refused… he was going to do it until I counted.”

“Gods above, Aedion,” Kyllian breathed. The brush of fingers along his back hurt but he allowed the touch. “You haven’t even cleaned these wounds?” 

Aedion shrugged, wincing at the movement. “I didn’t have much chance.” He glanced over his shoulder and caught the worry in Kyllian’s eyes. 

“Just stay here a minute,” Kyllian ordered, ducking under the tent flaps. Aedion obeyed, impatiently tapping his fingers along his thigh and watching the leaping shadows cast by the lantern.  Kyllian was back soon enough lugging a bucket of water and a clean cloth behind him. Aedion tried to refuse, complaints already falling from his lips before Kyllian interrupted. 

“Sit still, Aedion.” 

His tone brokered no room for argument so Aedion sat, facing away from his friend. Kyllian was as gentle as possible as he cleaned away the dried blood. The cloth was rough yet his hands were soft and Aedion found himself leaning into the touch. 

Dropping the dirtied rag back into the bucket, water now a brownish-red, Kyllian’s bare hands returned to Aedion’s skin. Tracing an especially sensitive line cutting from shoulder blade to spine he murmured, “only this one looks deep enough to scar. The rest are faded or fading.”

“I’m not worried about scars, I’ve got plenty of those already.” Kyllian dropped his hands back to his sides as Aedion turned to face him. “Speaking of…” Aedion gestured at the long white scar on Kyllian’s neck. 

Kyllian gave him a rueful smile. “You’re wondering how I got this beauty?”

“Wondering how you survived that,” Aedion countered. 

“I got lucky, it just missed everything important. As for  _ how _ , that’s a different story. More bad luck than good luck. I was in Rifthold before I joined up with the army, practically living on the streets. I needed money and somehow got desperate enough that I found myself in the Vaults.”

Aedion had heard of the Vaults. Pit fighting, gambling, and whoring were the most lucrative businesses down there but anybody with any goods or services could find interested clientele, no matter how dark or dirty they were. “How old were you?”

At that, Kyllian’s eyes darkened. “Fourteen.”

Gods. A fourteen year old in Hell-on-Earth. Aedion didn’t ask about why Kyllian was on the streets, earning his own money. That was likely a sob story for another night. 

“Even at fourteen I was a pretty good fighter. I saw that bloodstained sand of the fighting pits and thought ‘hey, it’s my only option.’ I got in that ring, used my speed to win the first two fights and a pouch of silvers. The third round didn’t go as well (I really never stood a chance against that guy) and before I know it, I’m being dragged out of the pit and left to bleed to death in a corner.”

Aedion gave a low whistle. “Almost makes my childhood look normal.”

“Please,” Kyllian scoffed. “I’ve heard the stories. You’ve been walking on and off killing fields since you were thirteen.”

“That particular story is true, but I’m willing to bet many of the stories they tell about me are made up.”

“Oh yeah?” Kyllian arched a brow. “Alright, let’s play a game. I tell you something I’ve heard from the men about the famed Aedion Ashryver and you tell me if that really happened.”

“Bring it, Abbas.”

The firelight caught in his tawny eyes, turning them to gold that glimmered with mischief. 

“Did you really tell an Adarlan official he should ‘take that stick out of his ass before it causes permanent damage?’”

Aedion’s sheepish look was answer enough, causing Kyllian to burst into laughter. 

“Is it true that the Crown Prince and you have a rivalry?”

Shrugging, Aedion replied, “I met him a few times when I was young, before the conquest. He was always a brat and told Aelin he didn’t want to be friends with her.”

“I wouldn’t expect much less from a prince. Is it true that you…” Kyllian trailed off, thinking. “...that you slept with a Rifthold barmaid, as she claimed?”

Aedion didn’t have to think in order to answer. “I’ve certainly slept with a few but whether she was one of them, I couldn’t say.”

Kyllian’s lips twitched as he clearly resisted the urge to smile. “And due to your Fae blood are you (as told by this barmaid) a-” He stopped, took a breath, and composed himself. One eye was twitching with the effort of not laughing. “-an animal in bed.” 

Aedion’s jaw dropped as Kyllian lost the battle against his amusement. His laughter barely slowed before he saw Aedion’s face and began howling, tears in the corners of his eyes. Laughter smoothed the sharp planes of his face, making his already handsome features beautiful. His wide grin, head tilted back, allowed the gold of his piercing to catch the lantern light and Aedion briefly wondered what the metal would feel like as Kyllian s-

_ No.  _

Shaking off the thought, Aedion blinked rapidly to get it out of his mind’s eye. He’d been with men as well as women and had no problem with either. In pleasure, a body is a body. In relationships, a soul is a soul. To him, it didn’t matter what they looked like or called themselves. When the end result is the same, what does it matter how he got there? 

But Kyllian was his friend. Aside from the fact that he didn’t even know if he liked males, his friendship with Kyllian was the closest he’d had in years, too precious to risk over something like this. 

“Aedion?”

Startled out of his thoughts, he smiled at Kyllian. “Sorry.”

“Copper for your thoughts?”

A laugh slipped from Aedion’s lips. “I don’t think so.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was more sorting out loose ends from the last one. Next chapter some real plot will start, as hinted by the commander's black ring in Ch 3
> 
> Also we started on that Angst (TM). Is it really an @Wxlves fic without it, though?
> 
> Kyllian and Aedion will be kind of a slowburn FYI, and Kyllian will continue to be a major player throughout the fic.


	5. Chapter 5

It was less than a week until Aedion’s seventeenth birthday and he still hadn’t told anyone. Birthdays were supposed to mark the passage of time as one became an adult but Aedion had long since stopped being a child, from the night his family was slaughtered and a conquering nation swept through Terrassen. The past few years birthdays had become an excuse to drink and forget about war for one night. Although, he supposed, soldiers didn’t need an extra excuse to drink. As evidenced by the scene in front of him.

The alcoholic… liquid ー really, that was the only word for it ー had been passed around the campfire several times. Aedion had drunk deep from it each time, as the others had, but his Fae metabolism meant it took a hell of a lot to make him inebriated. Erikson, not so much. 

“Hey, Ashryver!” the man in question called out, swaying where he stood. “I bet you can’t hold your hand over that fire as long as I say so.”

“Oh yeah? How much money are you putting on this?”

“Two silvers.” Met with booing from the men at the low amount, Erikson shrugged. “I ain’t betting away my savings on this crap.”

With a shrug, his heart beating just a little faster, Aedion reached his hand so it hovered just over the flame. “Tell me when to stop.”

The bet reminded him of Aelin. They’d play games like this, Aedion pitting his pain resistance and sheer will against Aelin’s magic. She’d always win, of course, laughing that the flame just tickled as Aedion nursed the soot-black spot on his hand. He felt a pang at the memories and blinked them away to find pain searing up his arm. He felt it in his hand, his arm, his chest. Inhaling deep through his nose, his face settled into a mask of calm even as his hand trembled. He was seconds away from giving in when Erikson, not cruel enough to prolong Aedion’s torture, called time. A grin slipped across the prince’s face. “Pay up Erikson.”

Grumbling, the man reached into his pockets before an idea came to Aedion. “I’d be willing to accept, as payment, some knowledge."

“Knowledge?”

“Just one thing. Your first name.”

“No thanks,” Erikson scoffed, dropping the two silvers, as promised, into Aedion’s blackened palm. The metal was cool against the heat of his skin. “I’d rather give you a golden dragon than that.”

Among jeers from the men and a threat from Kyllian to ‘learn his name even if it killed him,’ Erikson sat back down across the fire. Aedion was settling in propped on a log, feet stretched for the fire, when a dark shape slipped up behind him. He pulled a dagger before recognizing the broad frame and gray whiskered face. Byrne. 

“Ashryver, come with me.” His tone, usually even, was downright severe. Aedion wondered what the hell he’d done now as the elder man led him from the fire. 

“Someone’s in trouble again,” a sing-songy voice called from somewhere behind him.

“At this point I bet he just likes the whippings,” another voice replied, followed by an imitation of a cracking whip. This was met with laughs from the men. Aedion just sent a vaguely aimed vulgar gesture over his shoulder. 

Byrne took him to the far edge of the camp, pine trees looming above them. The dark was near-total and Byrne’s hushed tone made Aedion’s hair stand on end. His fingers found the hilt of his dagger once again, the metal a comfort to his wired nerves. He was having a hard time scenting Byrne’s emotions with the strong smell of lightning in the air. A storm was coming, the physical embodiment of what Aedion sensed was about to happen with the elder warrior here.

“What do you know of resistance efforts?” Byrne hissed, leaning close to Aedion so his words wouldn’t carry. Aedion was taken aback, his first instinct to play dumb. 

“I know I’m training to become an officer so I can end them before they even start.” The lie was easy, it was the same lie he told anyone and everyone since his country fell. Byrne didn’t fall for it.

“Aedion. Cut the crap. You come from a long line of stubborn, loyal people and from what I’ve heard, your family always protects itself before any kind of foreign interests. No true Ashryver would bow down to a conquering nation.” Aedion’s heart was nearly out of his chest. “I want to hear you say who you’re loyal to. No matter what you say I’ll know if you’re lying and if I find you’re loyal to the Crown, I’ll kill you where you stand.” There was no threat in his voice, only an iron-clad promise. 

Conveying all the sincerity he knew how, Aedion voiced his promise aloud for the first time in his life, the promise that ran through his veins, filled his lungs, kept his heart beating through everything he endured. “I swear this to you on my mother’s life and on the lives of my family, the rightful rulers of Terrassen who were butchered that night. I swear that Adarlan will pay for what they have taken from me, what they took from thousands. I will tear their kingdom down with my bare hands if that’s what it takes, but until I breathe my last breath, until the day my heart stops beating, I will spend every second finding ways to pay them back. When the time comes I’ll kill the King with my uncle’s sword, reclaim the power of House Galathynius, and dance on their fucking graves. They made me one of the most effective killers in Erilea and  _ that  _ was their greatest mistake.”

The air hung heavy with the words. The trees seemed to soak them up, whispering his promise to the winds and the stones and the stars. The earth, the mountains of Terrassen, they had heard his promise and now bound him to it. 

Byrne didn’t say anything for a long moment, either silenced by Aedion’s words or the ice in his tone. Finally, he spoke. “I believe you, boy. But there’s things you have to know. You’re not alone. Some people, myself included, have been working our way through the ranks in the past years. Both rebels and rebel sympathizers who have been organizing something huge. A long time ago one man planted an idea in the King’s head. He convinced him Adarlan needed an elite force, one that could operate almost completely separate from the army. They would go north and eradicate any rebel movements with lethal accuracy, based on intelligence gathered by Adarlan’s scouts.”

“You want to create a group to rival this one,” Aedion interrupted. Even his Fae eyes couldn’t see well in the dark but he knew the exact glare he was receiving. 

“Don’t interrupt me.” 

Aedion mumbled an apology. “I want you to  _ be part of _ this group. I want you to be a General. Unbeknownst to the King, this group will kill no rebels, it will be staging battles and saving lives. A difficult task, yes, but not impossible.”

“And why me?”

“Because you’re a symbol. You’re a symbol to your people, somebody this group can stand behind. More than that, you’re a symbol for the King. Already, I’m afraid you have a piss-poor reputation.”

Aedion’s laugh was humorless. “Adarlan’s whore. Or so I’ve heard.”

“Yes. As unfortunate as it is that your people cannot know, if word spread about what you were doing you’d be executed immediately. As it is, the King will also see you as a symbol, the symbol of a broken nation. Because of this, and because of your skill, you are first in line to be General.”

“And if I said no?”

Byrne’s tone was knowing. “Would you really?”

“I wouldn’t,” Aedion admitted.

Here was everything he’d worked for, laid out in a plan far better than anything Aedion could have done alone. The weight of this responsibility now lay on him.  _ Heavy is the head that wears the crown,  _ as his mother used to tell him. A General’s sword seemed heavy enough to him. “How will this happen? How long until I’m placed in charge?” Aedion pressed. Byrne’s only response was a shake of his head. 

“Keep training, keep impressing, keep moving up the ranks.”

Aedion’s impatience flared. “Keep training? While my people are killed and suppressed? For how long? A year? Five years?”

In the dark, Aedion didn’t have a chance to avoid the blow. Face stinging, he turned back to Byrne who lowered his hand slowly. “This plan has been too long in motion to be rushed by some young prince who doesn’t know better. The time will come Aedion, I can promise you that.”

His temper softening, Aedion rubbed at his cheek. A thought struck him. “One last thing.”

“Yes?”

“Who else is involved?”

“You will not talk about this with anybody. I don’t care who you trust or not, but one word of this falls into the wrong ears and everything is done. The only person I can trust you enough to tell you, mostly because I fear you’ll tell him anyways, is Kyllian.”

Aedion’s heart soared at that. “How did he become involved?” 

He could have sworn Byrne’s teeth flashed white in a smile. “Ask him yourself. Not a word about any of this, just ask him how he met me.” With that the old warrior slipped off into the dark leaving Aedion with his head spinning. For appearance’s sake he headed back to the campfire where he received a worried once-over from Kyllian. Settling down next to the man he shook his head in answer to Kyllian’s silent question. “There’s no trouble. This time, at least,” he added with a laugh.

“What was that about?”

The lie came quickly to Aedion’s lips. “He was just warning me. Apparently a new commander may be coming to camp in the next few days and he’s had it out for me since day one. Behave myself, don’t get on his bad side, et cetera.”

“Ah.” Kyllian didn’t sound convinced, but he didn’t press the issue either. 

“How do you know Byrne? You seem close with him.”

“Close is one word for it. He’s my father.”

Aedion blinked in surprise. He flashed back to what the man had said about Kyllian that night at dinner.  _ His father was an Adarlanian soldier who wouldn’t stick around.  _ Was Byrne the soldier? Aedion didn’t know the man well, but leaving a son with only his mother didn’t seem like something he would do.

Sensing Aedion’s confusion Kyllian elaborated. “He’s not my real father, I have no idea who the man is. Byrne took me off the streets and put me in a war camp when I was fourteen, he practically raised me. In fact, he was the one who found me half-dead with this wound right here.” Kyllian gestured at the scar on his neck.

“Well, shit.”

Kyllian’s grin was sharp as ever. “Well, shit? That’s all you have to say?” Aedion opened his mouth to argue but Kyllian just nudged him with his shoulder, hard. “I’m kidding, Ashryver. It’s all good. I know I’m lucky I got a father figure but my mother was all I really needed.”

“Where is she now?” Aedion regretted the question the moment Kyllian’s brilliant eyes shuttered.

“Dead.” He didn’t explain and Aedion didn’t ask. The similarities between Kyllian’s life and his, though… both raised fatherless by a mother who was scorned, their families killed or unknown, sent to the war camps at a young age simply because there was no other option. 

“I’m sorry.” Aedion was truly sorry that anybody had a life near as shitty as his own. He’d long stopped pitying himself but he’d never wish it on anyone. 

“I don’t need your pity,” Kyllian growled. Aedion didn’t blame him for the temper, pity made everything far worse.

“How about my empathy?”

This earned him a sidelong look. “I think I could handle that.” The weight of his arm settled around Aedion’s shoulders, a simple gesture of kinship. From the other side of the fire Erikson framed Aedion and Kyllian in a heart with his hands. Aedion rolled his eyes but he couldn’t find it in himself to care about the teasing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long to get up, school has hit me like a freight train. Also, it’s probably the longest yet

It had been just under a year since Byrne had first told Aedion about the plans for Terrassen. He’d fallen into the monotonous rhythm of the camp, slowly working his way up the ranks. He was now a captain, still spending most of his time in the camp aside from the occasional errands he ran for the King. It was dawn and he’d been summoned to the commander’s tent for another such errand, likely intelligence gathering.

When Aedion stepped into the tent and saw Kyllian his heart stuttered. What the hell was this about?  _ Was _ there trouble? The commander gestured for him to sit, the wood groaning under his considerable weight. He shared a look with Kyllian and saw the other man was as unsure as him.

The commander watched them both for a moment, leaning back in his chair with his fingers steepled before him. “You’ve both been summoned to Rifthold.” Aedion and Kyllian remained silent, waiting for the orders. They were rarely sent to Rifthold, the city was accessible enough that dozens of others could be assigned there instead. Aedion and Kyllian were usually sent to the less populous north, likely so they could become used to the area they would one day protect. “The King would like a conference.”

Aedion nearly choked. “The King?”

He received an irritated look from the commander. “That is what I said. You’re to be there in four day’s time.”

Alarm flashed across Kyllian’s face. “There’s snow on the ground and more storms coming. We’d be  _ lucky _ to make it in four days.”

“Then you had best leave soon and pray to the gods on your way.” His dismissal was clear. 

Even as they hurried to pack supplies and saddle horses, a light snow was flurrying down. Kyllian sent a worried glance at the sky, at the dark clouds brewing north of them. “Let’s get as far as we possibly can today,” he suggested. 

“And hope we don’t get buried overnight,” Aedion added, swinging one leg over onto his horse. Clicking his tongue, he gave her his heels, spurring her onward out of the camp. The snow was powdered enough that it wasn’t very slippery so Aedion let his horse have some speed. She was a war horse, strong and sure-footed but certainly not the fastest. Kyllian’s horse, leaner and sleeker, caught up to his with ease. For close to a league they rode next to each other, winding down the mountain on a wide, well-worn path. Neither of them spoke but Aedion would occasionally glance over at Kyllian, his long braids flying behind him as he tilted his face into the wind. Riding like this was a freedom rarely granted, and Aedion felt like he could fly if he so chose. 

After a time, the road turned thinner, more winding, and they were forced to slow their horses or risk injury. The route they were taking to Rifthold was direct, nearly a straight line, but it was dangerous and difficult. Aedion had worried that a longer, safer route would take time they just didn’t have. 

Reaching the base of the mountain Aedion and Kyllian halted, staring up the meandering path they were to follow straight up the mountain ahead. With a heavy sigh that Kyllian copied, Aedion urged his horse onward. 

Finally cresting the ridge, Aedion paused once again. He gazed south, mountains spread below them, all along the earth like the ridges on the back of a beast. Although the northern sky was gray, to the south it was a bright, nearly blinding blue. Far in the distance, beyond Kyllian’s human range of vision but barely discernible to Aedion, lay the great northern plains, a massive expanse of grassland that was buried in snow in the winter, scorching hot and dry in the summer.

“It’s beautiful,” Kyllian breathed, adding, “Almost enough to make me like the north.”

“You’re just not built for the cold,” Aedion retorted.

“You wouldn’t last a day in my mother’s homeland. I’ve seen pale-skinned men like you turn red as a rose within hours.”

“So we agree that everyone has their own strengths,” Aedion concluded, flicking the reins so his horse moved forward once again. “But that some of us have more than others.”

“If you’re referring to yourself as ‘others…’ “ Kyllian said with a grin. 

“I was referring to the fact that you turn into a shivering mess the instant the sun goes down and the snow starts falling.”

Kyllian’s tone was full of cheer as he replied, “Oh go to hell. Unless it’s too hot for your sensitive skin…”

Aedion burst out laughing, loud enough that a flock of birds perched in a nearby tree took off. 

The rest of the day was spent mostly in silence as they traveled up and down, over mountain after mountain. Finally, with only a few leagues to go before the plains, they stopped and set up camp. Aedion found an ancient pine whose branches reached far enough and high enough that the ground beneath was mostly free of snow. Sweeping away what he could the ground beneath was still frozen hard, but sleeping on the ground was nothing new for either warrior. 

Kyllian set up the small tent they’d brought while Aedion tied up the horses. Their breath fogged the air and Aedion felt regret that they didn’t have a tent of their own. At least they had grown a thick winter coat, far warmer than the cloak Aedion wore to ward off the cold. Blowing on his cupped hands to warm them, he headed away from their tree into the forest in search of firewood. Emerging minutes later with a bundle of wood he saw their tent standing and no sign of Kyllian. Not knowing what the hell lurked in these woods, he was seconds away from calling out his name when Kyllian stepped from the shadows of the trees. 

“Where were you?”

Kyllian stared at him for a long moment. “I was taking a piss. Mother hen.”

Aedion felt ridiculous then. Ears burning, though already as red as possible from the cold, he just cleared his throat and didn’t reply. With a bewildered, “huh,” from Kyllian, the topic was dropped.

As the sun fully slipped behind the jagged horizon and the temperatures dropped, Kyllian and Aedion sat by their small fire. Per Aedion’s request it had been set up as close to the horses as they dared, to share the heat with them a little. Kyllian, to his credit, hadn’t rolled his eyes when Aedion suggested this.

The dried meat was practically frozen as Kyllian pulled it from their packs. With a vaguely disgusted look he handed some to Aedion, saying, “Eat up.”

“Delicious,” Aedion added wryly. 

By the time they finished their tooth-breaking meal the fire was dying. Aedion halfheartedly poked at the coals but didn’t bother trying to revive them. “Call it for tonight?”

In response Kyllian stood and stretched his cold-stiff muscles. Slipping into their tent, followed closely by Aedion, the small size of the shelter quickly became apparent. For two mostly-full grown men, both larger than many, it was positively cramped. 

Laying shoulder-to-shoulder, body heat radiated off of Kyllian and hell, Aedion certainly wasn’t going to complain. He assumed Kyllian had drifted off when his voice cut through the complete darkness. “Why do you think the King has summoned us?”

“I don’t know,” was the only response he could give. He could hear the worry in Kyllian’s voice and couldn’t quite keep it from his own.

~

“Holy shit,” Kyllian breathed. 

It was still early on their second day of travel and they’d reached the plains. The tops of tall brown grasses, high as a horse’s shoulders, poked up from the thin layer of snow blanketing the ground. And that was all. As far as the eye could see there was flat, hard ground, snow, and grass. The mountains looming at their back suddenly seemed inviting, a break in the sheer monotony. The sky was a solid gray from the space above their heads until it met the ground at the horizon. 

It was beautiful in its sameness. Ominous, uninviting, but beautiful nonetheless. The horses’ hooves crunched in the icy snow, the sound immediately swallowed by the air around them. A harsh wind would stir up occasionally, the grass’s raspy whisper amplified around them. By the end of that first day on the plains Aedion thought he might go insane. Halfway through the second day they resorted to singing bawdy sailor’s tunes to break the silence. Reaching the foothills outside of Rifthold around noon, Aedion breathed a sigh of relief. 

“I never thought I’d be so excited to see some hills,” Kyllian laughed. 

“And with perfect timing,” Aedion added. “Only a few leagues through the hills to Rifthold and less than twenty four hours until we’re expected.”

Kyllian smiled slyly. “We’ll have time to kill tonight.”

Urging the horses onward Aedion gave his a sharp kick. She exploded into a run, powerful muscles moving under the saddle as wind whipped past Aedion’s face. Kyllian clicked his tongue to spur his horse into a run, edging ahead of Aedion as the ground’s gentle incline evened out.

“Son of a bitch,” Aedion hissed, pissed but accepting his defeat. 

No more words were exchanged between them until they reached the city gates, the sounds of cart wheels and horse hooves and clanging metal and people’s shouts a welcome reprieve from the silence of the wild they had just trekked through. They managed to find an inn on the outskirts of the city, where the buildings had more space between them and the streets were just a bit wider. After paying the innkeep and stabling their horses Aedion and Kyllian slipped out into the city, coins in their pockets and excitement roiling beneath their skin. 

Aedion awoke with a headache and a warm body tucked into his side. He only remembered the earlier parts of that night, finding a tavern not long after setting out and staying there for much of the night. Around one in the morning he had left the tavern and gone up stairs with… 

He glanced down at the person next to him. Seeing her face, the memory came back to his alcohol-addled brain—she was the barmaid from the downstairs tavern. She was beautiful, dark hair splayed across her pillow, sharp features softened in sleep. 

It was then that he noticed the sun, peeking over the rooftops and pouring into the room. From a bell tower somewhere in the city he heard it chime six times.  _ Shit.  _ He and Kyllian were to meet the King at seven o’clock and he had an hour to get back to their inn, clean up, and get to the castle. Not that finding it would be hard, he thought dryly, the glass and stone monstrosity loomed over the city, casting a shadow on the filth of the cobbled streets. 

Aedion sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots, feeling some regret as he slipped from the room without even a goodbye. Back at his room in the inn he found Kyllian lounging on a bed fully dressed, flipping a coin and catching it over and over. The older man barely spared him a glance. “Have a good night?”

Frowning at the clipped tone, Aedion tugged his shirt collar over his neck self consciously, covering the quickly-fading bruises there. “You ready to go?”

Kyllian’s snort was a tad derisive. “I am, you’re not. You weren’t seriously going to have a meeting with the damned King looking like that, were you?”

A glance in the small mirror above the washbasin confirmed that he indeed did not look… King-worthy. After fixing up he turned, quick as an adder. Catching Kyllian’s coin midair, fingers closing on the metal, he cocked an eyebrow. “Too slow.”

Kyllian didn’t smile, just gave Aedion an unimpressed look and snatched his coin back. “ _ Now _ you’re ready. Let’s go.”

On the walk to the castle grounds not a word was exchanged between them. Halfway there Aedion grew sick of the silent treatment. He grabbed Kyllian’s arm to stop him, demanding, “What the hell is up with you?” 

His laugh was edged with something bitter as Kyllian pulled his arm away. “You can’t think of  _ anything  _ that might be pissing me off?”

Aedion, for the life of him, genuinely could not. Seeing his expression, Kyllian nodded. “You really can’t, huh? We can sort this out later, I wouldn’t want to be late.”

Despite this his temper seemed to soften the longer they walked. He still didn’t say a word to Aedion.

When they reached the castle gates the guards seemed to know who they were, gesturing them through the wrought iron and stone gateway. They were escorted right in the front doors into a looming hall where red-carpeted stairs, wide enough for eight people to walk side-by-side, branched up and out towards various rooms and floors. The ceiling was high and arched like that of Diana’s temple in Terrassen, the only religious building Aedion had ever seen the inside of. 

While this castle was more ornate than Orynth’s it was still similar in scale, enough so that it barely warranted a glance from Aedion. Kyllian, on the other hand, was no noble, and he had never been in such a building if the boyish awe on his face was anything to go by. 

They were motioned straight up the stairs and into another, equally as large room. Gilded tapestries hung along the walls, matching the red and gold carpet that formed a path straight to the throne. Seated there, dark robes draped over the edge of the seat and onto the dais, fingers lazily drumming on the arms of that glass throne, was the King. 

His face seemed carved from marble, cold and still, an unfeeling portrait of some ancient deity long since lost to the centuries. Each time Aedion glanced away he found he couldn’t recall the King’s features, an eerily blank space in his memory. Everything about the man unsettled him, from the way he lounged, dark and imposing, to the strange, otherworldly scent that radiated off of him. Whatever dark magic he had summoned to conquer Erilea—it had corrupted him.

Aedion knelt, Kyllian following suit. Without allowing them up, the King spoke. Bastard, Aedion thought, to keep them kneeling. A show of power.

“You two have proved most useful.”

The King’s voice belied his appearance. It was deep, sensual. It was, somehow, the twin to the Crown Prince’s. Such a voice from a man like him was chilling. 

Fighting down his revulsion, Aedion murmured, “Thank you.”

“Thank you,  _ what?” _

In a flash of temper Aedion’s lip curled. He looked up, meeting the King’s eyes. “Thank you,  _ your Highness,”  _ He snarled, tone positively  _ dripping  _ sarcasm. From next to Aedion Kyllian coughed, not-so-subtly hiding a laugh. 

A moment of silence followed, the longest second of Aedion’s life. He waited for the order to throw them out but then, suddenly, the King laughed. It was not a kind laugh, not at all. Menace lurked beneath that amused exterior. 

“I like you, boy.” Aedion let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “You may stand.”

They stood, shoulders straight, hands clasped behind their backs. “Recently I have received messages from my scouts about stirrings of rebel movements in the north. I have need of a new legion, an elite legion, one to stamp out the insects before they get any bright ideas about who they want ruling  _ my _ country.” Rage simmered in Aedion’s blood at the word ‘my.’  _ His _ as though he had done anything for Terrassen but shed her blood. 

That same cool amusement hadn’t left the King’s face. “Ashryver, I am appointing you general of this legion.” He turned to Kyllian. “Abbas, you will be a commander and second in command to Ashryver. You both showed great leadership in your time in the camps. Do not let me down.” The threat was obvious and Kyllian bowed his head in acknowledgement, somber, but Aedion could see the faintest gleam of mischief in his dark eyes. “I have something for the both of you,” the King continued. “Shall we call it an initiation gift?”

His gaze turned intense, the sudden change making Aedion’s hair stand on end. A man, so diminutive in stature and presence that Aedion had barely noticed him before, scurried out from the shadows beside the throne. He carried a crimson cushion, upon which two obsidian rings sat. The overpowering stench from the rings, so similar to that which hung around the King, made every primal instinct in Aedion’s body scream at him to run. 

Kyllian, while wary, didn’t seem to notice as he took the ring. When Aedion’s fingers first closed around it he nearly dropped it, and all of his self control went into schooling his expression. The sheer  _ wrongness _ of the stone… he could feel it in his blood. 

“These rings are a symbol of your allegiance to me. Consider them to be.. A key.” The King almost laughed at something he had said, some meaning Aedion missed. “Anywhere you might think to go, any man of Adarlan will not stop you.”

Aedion had the feeling that the ring served a far darker purpose but didn’t dare mention it to Kyllian, didn’t even dare to hint that he thought so. Sliding the ring onto his finger he sketched a bow to the King, far more shallow than anything Crown royalty should have received. Kyllian bowed deeper and the King waved his hand in a lazy dismissal. They were nearly out the doors when he called out, “One more thing. When you arrive back at your camp there will be one last test of your loyalty. I expect you to pass.”

With another bow Aedion exited, Kyllian close behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unrelated to the chapter, but Kyllian and Aedion share one (1) brain cell and Kyllian has it most of the time.
> 
> Similarly, Lysandra has A Normal Amount of brain cells while Aedion still has one (1) but sometimes she shares hers with him.


	7. Chapter 7

Aedion walked as fast as he dared, not wanting to attract attention, Kyllian following, trusting Aedion’s judgment despite not knowing what the hell was going on. Aedion took so many turns he quickly lost his way, the inn they stayed at well behind them; as soon as he was sure they were safe Aedion practically tore the ring off his finger, dropping it into his shirt pocket. 

Reaching for Kyllian’s hand, the man pulled back in confusion. “What the hell is this, Aedion?”

“Just give me the ring.”

“Aedion-”

“Give it to me.” Aedion’s tone was harsh but he should have known it wouldn’t cow Kyllian. 

“If you tell me what’s going on.”

“These rings, they’re—not right. They smell like pure darkness, like evil things best left untouched. I don’t know what they do but they certainly serve some purpose beyond what the King was telling us.”

With concern furrowing his brow, Kyllian slipped the ring from his finger. “Then what should we do about them? Certainly not keep them.”

“Let then sink to the bottom of the Averie?” Aedion suggested.

“And if the King asks where our rings have gone next time he sees us?”

An idea dawned on Aedion. “We get fakes made. You lived here in Rifthold, right? Do you know a jeweler or smith, any kind of craftsman, somebody you trust not to tell anyone?” Even under the dark shade of his skin Aedion could see the blood drain from Kyllian’s face.

“There’s one person.”

~

The man who opened the door at Kyllian’s knock was tall and lean. He couldn’t have been over fifty but his hair was graying at the temples and his skin bore the faint scar marks of a disease long-past. He frowned at them a moment before his eyes settled on Kyllian and recognition lit up his face. “My gods, you’ve gotten older! And taller! What brings you and… your friend? What brings you two here?”

The erratic way he spoke told Aedion this guy might have a few screws loose but if he could help them, that was all they needed. Since suggesting they come to him, Kyllian had been tense, quiet. Now that they stood just inside his doorway he was practically shaking. “Esmonde, we need your help. Can you make replicas of these rings for us? No questions asked, no questions answered. We need them quickly and we need your silence.”

Peering at the rings Aedion presented to him, the man laughed. “Those are simple, if not strange. Leave one with me to use as a reference and come back tomorrow morning. I’ll have your rings and I won’t have questions.” He laughed again, a high, strange noise.

“Thank you.” It seemed to physically pain Kyllian to say those words. He and Aedion turned to leave, Aedion pocketing the second black ring, when the man grasped Kyllian’s wrist to stop him. Aedion’s eyes flickered down to where the man’s pale fingers wrapped around Kyllian’s arm and back up to the revulsion on Kyllian’s face. The faintest idea came to him about how these two knew each other but he pushed it aside, not wanting to consider it.

Esmonde’s pale eyes gleamed with a strange light. “We didn’t talk about payment.”

Pulling his hand back Kyllian nodded. “Since you said they’re so simple to make… seven dragons.”

“Fourteen — there’s two of them.”

“Ten.”

“Thirteen and I go no lower. Unless you would like to consider other methods of payment.”

Aedion had never seen someone shut down so fast. The second the words came out of Esmonde’s mouth Kyllian’s face was void of any emotion. “No.”

The hollow anger in his voice make Aedion blink, he’d never heard something like that from Kyllian. A feral, protective rage rose up in Aedion and he grabbed the man by his shirt, shoving with all his considerable strength. Esmonde hit the wall hard, grunting in pain as his back hit the wood. The ring he’d held clattered to the floor. “You’ll get your gold. Whatever filthy  _ payment _ you think you’re getting… it’s sure as shit not happening.” He dug into his pockets and pulled out a handful of coins, dropping them on the floor at his feet. Whether or not it was the price he’d asked for, Aedion didn’t care. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” His words dripped with an unspoken threat.

Head swimming with lingering rage Aedion stormed from the house. Kyllian had slipped out wordlessly a moment ago and now leaned against the side of the house, head tilted back, eyes closed. The door hit the wall with the force Aedion opened it and the noise made Kyllian look up. “You don’t need to fight my battles.”

“I wasn’t fighting your battles, I was just pissed.” Aedion didn’t ask why Kyllian had been so nervous. He could put two and two together, he wasn’t stupid. They began walking, tracing their steps through the city back to the inn.

Esmonde… Aedion wouldn’t touch that issue with a ten foot pole. Instead, he asked, “Why were you so angry this morning?”

Some of the anxious tension seemed to leave Kyllian, replaced with a hard-edged humor. “Sometimes you are truly dense, Ashryver.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“If you’re not coming up with the answer yourself then you don’t need to hear it,” Kyllian retorted.

“Could you  _ be  _ more cryptic?”

Kyllian stopped walking, turning to face Aedion. “If the answer doesn’t even occur to you, it’s likely not relevant to you or me.”

Aedion couldn’t keep the frustration from his voice, complaining, “that makes no sense.”

“What I’m saying is to let it go. It’s not a problem—I was pissed when I had no real reason to be.”

Throwing his hands up in the air, Aedion sighed. “I have to be emotionally open with you but as soon as you have something to get off your chest, you refuse?”

Kyllian shook his head, laughing. “Not all of us are an open book like you, Aedion.”

“Open book,” Aedion scoffed, dropping the subject.

~

Aedion was nearly asleep when Kyllian’s voice floated across the dark room.

“I lied.”

“About what?” he murmured sleepily.

“I told you I got this scar pit fighting. That wasn’t true.” Aedion stilled. Kyllian’s voice was at a practiced evenness. “What I said about living here, on the streets, that wasn’t a lie, but I didn’t make money fighting.”

Sympathy rose up in Aedion’s gut. “You don’t have to say this if you don’t want to Kyllian. I can’t imagine-”

“No.” Kyllian’s voice was harsh. “I need to say it. I- I whored myself out for money. Esmonde, he was a… a regular client.” 

Aedion could feel bile in his throat. After they got their rings, he might just kill the man. “And the scar?” he gently prompted.

“Once someone refused to pay. I argued with them about it and instead of paying they tried to just cut my throat. I escaped but…” Aedion couldn’t see his face in the dark but assumed Kyllian was gesturing to his neck.

“You were fourteen?” was all Aedion could manage to ask. Kyllian didn’t answer. “Thank you for telling me this.”

“You deserve the truth,” Kyllian whispered through the darkness. 

Aedion didn’t respond and the room lapsed back into silence for a minute. Something occurred to him then, something that had been nagging at his mind for a while. “Were you angry this morning because you were jealous?” Kyllian made a noncommittal hum that Aedion took to mean yes. 

A minute later he added, “Of me? Or of the barmaid?” Kyllian didn’t answer, pretending to sleep though Aedion could hear his heartbeat, the quick staccato of alertness. 

He nearly resigned himself to Kyllian’s silence, flopping over onto his other side and closing his eyes, when a little voice inside of him said  _ fuck it.  _ His Fae eyes, capable of seeing in the near-total dark, picked out his matchbook sitting on the tiny bedside table. With the scratch of the match on the table’s rough wood, orange light bloomed. He lit the lantern, the tiny flame’s light dancing across the walls as Kyllian turned at the disruption. He rolled over to face Aedion, squinting at the light. “What are you doing?”

“Of me or her?” he repeated.

The shadows deepened the contours of Kyllian’s face as he sat up, watching Aedion carefully. “Seems like you already know.” He could hear Kyllian’s heartbeat pick up slightly, would be lying if he said his own didn’t too. “Is that a problem?”

In lieu of responding Aedion slipped from his bed, settling down next to Kyllian. He sat close, nearly too close, their thighs brushing through the thin blankets. He tilted his head slightly and Kyllian’s eyes tracked the movement, a strange hunger in them.

“And if I told you it wasn’t a problem?” Aedion whispered. He reached a hand out, his fingers brushing the scar on Kyllian’s neck, feeling the pulse jump under his touch. Tracing his fingertips down the raised mark he brought his hand to a stop just underneath it, resting in the shadow of Kyllian’s collarbone. Kyllian’s lips parted as inhaled, an involuntary gasp at the touch. Aedion, for his part, couldn’t look anywhere but Kyllian’s mouth.

“Don’t you dare start treating me like I’m glass,” Kyllian hissed, his voice rough even as he leaned imperceptibly closer.

“You’ve beaten my ass into the ground too many times for that,” Aedion replied, only half-joking. His hand slipped around to the back of Kyllian’s neck, fingers tangling in the long braids, and pulled him in for a kiss.

It wasn’t until Kyllian returned the kiss, his lips parting to deepen it as his hands went to Aedion’s face, that Aedion realized how fucking deep he’d gotten himself in. For the first time in years, for just a few seconds, he felt completely and utterly calm under Kyllian’s touch; rough with callouses from years of training and yet gentle. His blood thundered in his ears, his head spinning in the best way possible. 

Struck with the sudden need to  _ taste  _ Aedion moved from Kyllian’s mouth, pressing a gentle, open-mouthed kiss to his jaw then to the raised white scar on his neck. Kyllian shivered under the touch and Aedion pulled back with concern. Reading the worry in his eyes, Kyllian shook his head, that one-sided smirk Aedion loved curling his lips. “It’s okay, I just… didn’t expect that.”

There was heat behind his dark eyes but also a tiredness, an exhaustion beyond just needing sleep. It was the kind of exhaustion that came from baring yourself to another person, the effort it took to lay yourself open for them to see and judge and do what they will with what they find. 

So instead of leaning back in Aedion stayed a small distance away. “We travel tomorrow, we should get some sleep in an actual bed while we can.” He padded back across the cold floor and settled into his bed, blowing out the lantern on his way.

He was only mildly surprised when he heard Kyllian’s feet on the floor followed by the rustling of his own bed covers as Kyllian slipped beneath them without an invitation. Not that Aedion would give him the boot. “It’s warmer here,” Kyllian murmured. Aedion made a noncommittal noise at the weak excuse, even as Kyllian curled so they faced away from the other, backs pressed against each other.

When Aedion awoke he was indeed warm, dawn’s gray light just filtering through the window. Kyllian was awake, his breathing quick enough that Aedion knew he was anxious. Knowing Kyllian wouldn’t appreciate it, and that he could handle himself, Aedion didn’t offer to get the rings alone.

When Kyllian asked that he wait in the alley outside Esmonde’s Aedion didn’t miss the flash of silver, the small knife Kyllian palmed. And when Kyllian slipped back outside, duplicate rings in his hand and real rings in his pocket, Aedion just gestured to the small spot of blood on Kyllian’s cheek. Wiping it off on his sleeve, he dropped Aedion’s false ring into his palm. 

Sliding the fakes onto their fingers they made their way to the docks, each man hurling a black, cursed ring as far into the Averie as they could. Watching the stone sink into the muddy depths was therapeutic for Aedion and, he suspected, Kyllian as well.

It took nearly two days of travel for Kyllian’s usual humor to return, two days of silent comfort and jokes gone mostly ignored from Aedion.

He knew he had him back when Aedion reached a hand for his, laying too close in their tiny tent in the mountains, and Kyllian’s fingers closed around his, returning the gesture even as he drawled, “How domestic.”

“Of course, honey.” Aedion’s tone dripped with sweet sarcasm at the term of endearment.

“I’m sorry for the past few days. Seeing Esmonde just…” Kyllian trailed off. The unspoken words hung in the air.  _ Ending his miserable, dirty life... _

“Never apologize for that.” The fierceness in Aedion’s tone startled even him. “You’re allowed to be affected by these kinds of things, and if you hadn’t killed that son of a bitch I probably would have done it myself.”

“It didn’t feel as good as I hoped it would,”

“It never does.”

Aedion rolled over so he could reach for Kyllian, brush a thumb over the fine bones of his cheek, trace the contours of his jaw in the pitch-black. He would know Kyllian if he were deaf, blind, and dumb, based on scent and the feel of his skin alone.

This time it was Kyllian who surged forward, pulling Aedion’s bottom lip between his teeth in a biting kiss. Aedion couldn’t stop the moan that slipped from his mouth.

That night, hidden away in an undersized tent with winter winds howling outside, they touched each other for the first time. Their bodies pressed close, legs entangled, Aedion’s hips jerking into Kyllian’s hand as the tight coil of heat pooled low in his stomach.

And when Aedion returned the favor, the rhythm of Kyllian’s hips becoming erratic as his release barreled through him, Aedion’s name fell from his lips like a prayer.

~

“This girl was caught aiding the resistance efforts through espionage, coming into our camps as a washerwoman searching for work and using this position to spy on our officers. On these charges, she will be put to death for treason.”

The girl kept her head high, gaze straight ahead. She didn’t look at any of the officers, at the longsword stuck hilt-up in the dirt, and certainly not at that damned traitor. A General, if her word was to be trusted. His blue-and-gold eyes, that stunning Ashryver trait, were cold, his face impassive. Adarlan’s Whore, selling himself to their country… and for what? To save his own life? The man standing behind him, his second-in-command, wore the same inscrutable expression; she didn’t know him as well, didn’t know if he was Adarlanian or a traitor too… but Aedion? Aedion was no Wolf in the North, no legendary warrior. These two  _ boys  _ were just the King’s lapdogs.

“Well, Ashryver,” an officer sneered, “your final test of loyalty.” 

The girl ran her tongue over her teeth, nudging the loose tooth she had earned in her struggle to get away. Blood welled anew in her mouth and as Ashryver took a step forward she spat it right into the dirt at his feet. “That is what you are to me. You turned your back on your people,” she snarled, feral. Still, she made no move to escape. She knew she’d be caught again and running was cowardly. 

He only arched one brow as the officers laughed. “Any other last words for me?”

“You’re a filthy traitorous bastard. You’re a scavenger, a stray, making do with the barest scraps and doing whatever possible to survive even if it means eating from the hand that beats you.” It was only after she said these words that she realized how much she truly meant them, how much hatred burned in her heart for this man. Farmers, clerks, inkeeps, washerwomen — everyday people were giving their lives for their countries and this  _ prince, _ this powerful figure, he turned away from all of them. 

His cold expression still didn’t change as he reached for the longsword. Both hands tight on the leather grip, cold Adarlanian steel glinting in the dawn light as he lifted the blade.

“Do it, you  _ beast,”  _ she spat. “Kill a child of your own country. Nobody expects better from you.”

The last thing she saw was the flash of dull silver and that traitorous face. She could have sworn the barest hint of pain flickered in his eyes just as the steel bit into her neck and everything went dark. 

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

Aedion jolted awake with a gasp for the fifth time in as many nights. The sweat covering his body felt more like the thick stickiness of the girl's blood and the air felt to close for his lungs. Nightmares certainly weren’t new for him but had worsened since killing that girl, beheading her while she stared him down with such  _ hatred,  _ her words echoing in his ears. “Nobody expects better from you,” he heard, faintly, and shook his head to rid himself of the sounds.

Kyllian, blessedly, slept through Aedion’s nightmare. Each time he woke him Aedion felt guilt pile on top of everything else, despite Kyllian’s insistence that he doesn’t sleep well anyways. With one last glance at where his Second slept, one arm thrown over his eyes, he ducked out of the tent.

The air was chilled and the sky was a deep, velvet blue, tiny stars winking down at him as his feet carried him away from the tent. He didn’t know where he was going, only that the cold air soothed his mind. Inhaling it deep into his lungs he paused, frowning. The scent of human fear and blood hung on the wind; though not unusual for a war camp it was certainly unusual for the middle of the night. 

He followed the scents to the stables, casting his eyes about in the darkness to find the source. The horses were nervous, all flicking tails and rolling eyes, and Aedion brushed a hand over their velvety noses as he walked past them, searching.

He nearly passed her, crouched low in an empty stall, breathing shallow. When his eyes landed on her she squeaked in fear, clamping a hand over her mouth as though it wasn’t too late to be spotted.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, holding his hands out wide. “Just tell me what happened here.”

The young woman seemed disinclined to trust him, watching him with eyes that shone in the dark. The scent of blood was strong. “Are you hurt?” He asked, frowning. Still she didn’t respond. 

Carefully, as though trying not to spook a colt, he reached for her hands. She let him take them, still watching him with wide eyes. The blood on them, dark and sticky, reminded Aedion of the other girl’s, spilling into the dirt as her head rolled. Swallowing down the revulsion, the nausea that arose at the memory, he turned his attention to the young woman before him. He ducked his head to look in her eyes, letting urgency slip into his tone — if she wasn’t hurt it just meant someone else was and Aedion had to know who. “I need to know whose blood this is.”

“His.”

Aedion blinked in confusion. The girl’s voice was deeper than he’d expected and raspy with tears. His gaze followed her finger which pointed at the suspicious-looking pile of hay in the corner. Brushing dried grasses aside Aedion nearly yelped in surprise. A man lay there, blood pooling from a wound on his temple. A bloodied rock, likely the murder weapon, sat next to him. Judging by his clothes he was an average, low-down soldier, no officer or anyone of import. Nobody who’d be noticed gone in the next few hours.

Schooling his voice he returned attention to her. “Did you kill him?”

She seemed to gain courage in the span of a second. “He was going to rape me. He pushed me down and I grabbed for anything I could use. My hand closed around that rock and I didn’t even think, I just-” she trailed off, gesturing. The more she spoke the more Aedion could hear a rough brogue to her voice. 

He glanced down again, saw the tears in her dress and the bruises on her wrist and a sick satisfaction curled in his gut. “Good for you, then.”

Evidently realizing Aedion would pose no problem to her, her voice grew desperate. “What do I do? I killed him, they won’t just let me get away with it. They won’t care he almost raped me they’ll just punish me and I can’t hide the body I can’t even drag it twenty feet and-” Aedion cut her off. “I’ll help you with the body and I’m not reporting you. This was done in self-defense.” Even in the dark Aedion could see the relief on her face. “Can you stay hidden until dawn?” She nodded frantically. “I leave with my legion at sunrise, headed north. I can get you out of here with us.” He knew it was more complicated than this. The Bane, as they were now called, wouldn’t just be following orders up north. When she realizes it’s a rebel group will she join? Or will she report them to the King, an effective life sentence. And even beyond that, Aedion knew he was bringing this girl along into a rough world.

But who was he kidding? She had fought back against a grown man and now faced Aedion with a straight spine, despite the panic he could smell coming off her in waves. She was tough.

Aedion, however, had never been one for thinking ahead. Consequences could be dealt with later. And so he told the girl, “if you want to escape, come to the camp’s eastern gate at dawn.” With that he hoisted the body onto a shoulder and headed for the woods, sticking to the darkest patches of shadow he could find.

Scum like this man  _ deserved _ to be left to the wolves, he thought, dropping the body onto frozen ground with little ceremony. When he returned to the stable he found the girl burning the bloodied hay, feeding handfuls of it to the torch burning on the wall sconce. The smoke that curled into the air agitated the horses but there was nothing he could do about that. With one final glance at the girl he murmured, “East gate. Sunrise.” She gave him a sharp nod.

When Aedion slipped back into the tent, Kyllian stirred. “Where were you?”

“Hiding a dead body,” Aedion replied, pulling off his boots and sliding under the furs of the bedroll.

With an amused huff Kyllian rolled back onto his side. “Right.”

Holding back a laugh at Kyllian’s sarcastic disbelief he fell silent. Stories like that could wait until morning.

~

The girl stood by the eastern gate with a leather pack slung over her shoulder when The Bane passed through. Catching Aedion’s eye she slipped into their ranks, seamlessly blending into the crowd of men and sidling up to Aedion. In the light of day he could see her well, the bruise on her cheek the only physical reminder of last night. She had curly red hair, pulled back tight into a braid. A few wisps escaped nonetheless, framing an angular face mapped in freckles. Wide green eyes watched him with a sharp intelligence.

She introduced herself as Aleya with a mocking salute and Aedion was reminded that he hadn’t even known her name. “No need to introduce yourself,” she added, “I know who you are.”

“We’re enlisting women now?”

Aedion turned to the man who’d spoken with a grim smile. “More of a refugee than enlistment.”

His dark eyes flickered over Aleya with an assessing gaze. Noticing the bruise he just nodded solemnly.

“Am I going to have to worry about any of these men?” She asked once he’d turned away.

“Tell you what.” Aedion pulled a dagger from its sheath at his hip. It was simple, just strong steel forged into a leaf shaped blade, the leather wrapped grip well-molded to fit the hand. “I don’t expect any trouble, these are good men handpicked by Byrne, but in case there is, you keep this.” He pressed the dagger into her hand. “I’ll teach you how to use it if you’d like. Your first lesson — the quickest way to the heart is between the fifth and sixth ribs on the left.”

Aleya smiled wide. “You must know the quickest way to my heart if you’re handing me a weapon.” Aedion laughed as she continued. “Someday I would like to learn to fight,  _ really _ fight.”

Unease settled in Aedion. She wanted to fight but as far as she knew, this group was sent to kill rebels in the north. Was that what she wished to do? Or was her statement more innocent, merely the desire to have power all her own, a power not often afforded to women.

In response Aedion just nudged her with his shoulder, a friendly gesture. “I’ll be first in line to be your teacher.”

~

The mood that night in the Commanders’ tent was tense.

“You’ve endangered every man here, Ashryver! You’ve endangered this plan set in motion years ago! And for what? For a crush? A girl you thought was pretty enough to warm your bed?” Luka Faron, The Bane’s third-in-command, was fuming.

“You don’t think I considered the dangers, Faron? She had nowhere else to go.”

“Because she  _ killed  _ a man.”

“He was going to  _ rape  _ her. It wasn’t a cold-blooded act of insanity.”

“How do you know she wasn’t lying?”

“You forget I’m Fae, I could smell her fear from across camp. I know when people are lying, can heart it in their heart and all I heard in hers was terror. She’s not a killer.”

“And how do you know she’s not loyal to Adarlan?”

“I don’t,” Aedion admitted, voice dropping to a far quieter volume. “I’m aware of the danger she poses. I will tell her what we are, what we do, and if I get any hint that she’ll betray us I will kill her myself.”

Luka sighed, rubbing his forehead. His tone softened. “You know I trust you and your judgment in many matters related to this legion.”

“I know, and I trust yours as well.”

“I’m just worried about what this means for the Bane.”

Regret stirred in Aedion’s gut. “I’m sorry for bringing this on you. Both of you,” he added with a glance at Kyllian who had been quiet thus far.

Luka’s gray eyes dropped in shame. “I’m truly sorry about what I implied she was to you. I didn’t mean that, I was angry.”

Aedion clapped a hand to his shoulder. “No hard feelings, I certainly don’t blame you.” With that he ducked out of the command tent and into his own. Kyllian was a foot behind him.

Aedion pulled off the armor he’d worn to march, brushing snow from the helmet where it melted into the canvas by the tent flaps. Sick of Kyllian’s silence he turned, opening his mouth to ask his opinion on the matter. His words died on his tongue, taking in the sight as Kyllian, his back to Aedion, pulled his shirt over his head. The ripple of muscle under dark skin had Aedion’s mouth dry. Blinking away the image Aedion finally asked, “should I take your silence as disapproval?”

Kyllian turned with a sigh. His eyes were molten gold in the firelight, narrowed slightly in thought. “It’s not disapproval, I understand why you took her under your wing. I would have done exactly the same thing if I’m honest with myself.”

“But…” Aedion prompted.

“ _ But  _ what if it does become a problem? If she turns to Adarlan we will have to kill her and Aedion-” Kyllian reached to grasp both of Aedion’s hands in his. “You’re no killer. A warrior, yes, but no cold-hearted killer. I see how you’ve struggled since…”

The  _ since  _ didn’t need to be said, they both knew the event Kyllian spoke about. “That wasn’t easy for me and I only had to watch. I worry what’ll happen if the worst-case situation really arises.”

Aedion slowly shook his head. “I pray we don’t reach that point. I’ll talk to her tomorrow about… all of this,” he said, giving a vague, all-encompassing gesture at their surroundings.

~

Aedion found Aleya awake at dawn. She sat on a small overlook, gazing over the white and gray of the mountains with her cloak pulled tight around her, the cold wind whipping her curls around her face. He sat next to her, ignoring the snow that soaked his pants as he did so. “We head farther north today, to a settlement in the northwest Staghorns.” She made a noncommittal noise in response. “If you want to come with us all the way there’s something you should know. If you decide you don’t want this life I’ll send someone to escort you to a village about four leagues from here, but I need to know now.”

“How am I to make this decision without knowing what you’re going to tell me?”

Aedion set his jaw. “I know it’s unfair to ask but I need to know now.”

Aleya regarded him with a sharp look in her eyes. “What are you hiding, Aedion?”

“Aleya, please, don’t ask me anything. I need your answer.”

She took a deep breath, turning away from him to gaze back out over the mountains. After a moment she reached into her cloak. Aedion tensed at the flash of metal as she withdrew her hand but she only loosely held the dagger he had given her. Turning it in her hands she watched the light catch the metal. “I’ll stay but I’ll kill no one. Not for you, not for the king.”

He felt the rising anxiety seep from him in an instant. “Neither will we.”

She turned with an arched brow. “You have a legion of the best warriors in Adarlan, each man trained to crush rebel resistance. If you think nobody’s dying then you’re a fool.”

“Easy on the name calling,” Aedion laughed, “Nobody is dying if I can help it.” Aleya shot him a questioning glance and he took a deep breath, preparing himself. “Let me lay this out for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Introducing new characters? Wow didn’t know it did that.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s taken me 84 years to get this new chapter up. It’s a little on the shorter side but what I had initially planned for it, I decided to split into two separate chapters instead.

Their breath clouded in the air, the sound of three hundred men marching through snow echoing off the mountainous cliffs on either side. Most of the Bane were northerners, if not from Terrassen then from northern Adarlan. Fifty of the men were the  _ Bjorn, _ hailing from the town of Amaroth far in the Frozen Wastes. If Aedion could have all three hundred men of this same stock, he would. Towering, thickly bearded, and packed with muscle from a hard-working lifestyle, they resembled the bears they named themselves after. Not only were they used to weather far colder than the Staghorns, but they were all fierce warriors, unstoppable on the battlefield with axes and swords of a better make than any Aedion had seen before.

“Should I be jealous?” somebody murmured in Aedion’s ear. He turned to find Kyllian had sidled up beside him, following his line of sight to where he was watching the  _ Bjorn.  _

“Definitely,” Aedion replied. He patted Kyllian’s bare cheek with a cold-stiff hand. “I like a man with some facial hair. The more the better.” The commander’s sarcastic snort told Aedion what he thought about  _ that.  _

While they bickered the God’s Hands had appeared before them out of the fog, tall rock spires that jutted from the earth like a giant’s fingers grasping at the air. He called for a halt, the men repeating the order backwards until the troops farthest from Aedion had heard. Aedion, Kyllian, and Luka met at the front of their forces, emissaries on this mission.

Their white flag billowed above them in the mountain winds, signaling their peaceful intentions as they approached the village. Even so, Aedion’s face was well known. The bastard general. Traitor. Wolf in the North. It was no surprise when the three men found themselves greeted with the nasty end of a crossbow, aimed for Aedion’s chest by a boy barely younger than him. “What’s your business here?” he called over the wind, keeping his distance and his aim.

“We come under a flag of peace,” Aedion replied, “we just wish to speak to whomever leads this village.”

“And why shouldn’t I kill you where you stand? I know what you do to your people, what you’ve done.” The boy’s words were directed towards Aedion more than anyone. 

Luka’s low voice came from behind Aedion. “Because we’ve been sent to kill you and yet come bearing a flag of peace. With your cooperation we won’t have to spill a drop of blood. Please…” he spread his hands imploringly, “we aren’t what we seem.”

Something in his Third’s voice, or maybe the natural, easy kindness that seemed to radiate from Luka, convinced the boy to lower his weapon. With a reluctant toss of his head he gestured them into the village, slipping in behind them where he could watch the three warriors. They were led to a log-walled building, slightly larger than the others with a slate-shingled roof rather than thatch. Inside the building a fire burned cheerily, stoked by a young girl with black braids that hung to her waist. Seated on an embellished wooden chair, furs draped around him, was an old man. His hair, too, was braided, hanging as long as the girl’s, though time had leached its color.

The boy and the elder exchanged words in a strange language before the boy slipped out. The elder then stood, furs slipping from his lap, as he stepped away from the chair to approach Aedion. Despite his age he was not frail, his skin deeply tanned from the bright sun, his dark eyes sharp, searching. “My son tells me you’ve been sent to kill us, hm?” At these words the girl rose from her crouch and stood by the old man’s side. “This is my daughter’s daughter,” he said, gesturing to her. The pride in his voice was evident. “She will lead these people once I die. She will be a part of this discussion.” The girl didn’t say anything, just flicked her eyes over the three men in an evaluating gaze. Aedion felt naked beneath her stare. 

Bowing his head he turned back to the old man, warrior instincts telling him to keep an eye on the girl. “We’ve been sent under orders to kill your people and destroy your village. My legion, however, is made up of three hundred men who have no love for the King. We will not carry out his orders. Your people will be moved from their homes and my legion will help you through the mountains to a safer area. Your livestock will be killed, homes set afire, but your people will remain safe.”

“You must destroy the village and erase all trace of us living,” the elder murmured. “And if we do not leave?”

“Then we kill every last person in this village.” Kyllian’s voice was hard, golden eyes cold. Aedion knew it was an act, knew Kyllian prayed the villagers would not force their hand, but the ice in Kyllian’s face alarmed even him. The man could have been an actor in another life.

The elder turned to his daughter, said something again in their native language. She nodded, replied quickly, and disappeared into the snow. “She will gather the villagers,” he announced, “and I will tell them what you have told me. I hope they choose to leave but if they choose to stay, I will not make them do anything.” The sadness in his voice told Aedion he knew what was best for his people and could only hope they knew too. Their lives or their homes — not a happy decision, simple as it seemed.

It was only minutes later that people began gathering outside. Aedion, Kyllian, and Luca stepped back into the snow and wind to see men, women, and children standing in the cold. Many had bundles of blankets and food, all were dressed in furs and wool to ward off the frigid air.

Although the Bane was saving these people’s lives, Aedion didn’t expect any gratitude. They were being uprooted, sent into the wintry mountains. Some were casting baleful looks at the officers, some stared in wonder, and some refused to even look their way, out of fear or anger Aedion didn’t know.

Once every villager stood before them, around two hundred people at best guess, their elder began speaking to them. Aedion didn’t understand a word but Luka seemed to pick some up, leaning into Aedion’s ear to murmur, “He’s saying they’re to come with us.” He listened again, head tilted in concentration. “I didn’t understand much of that but heard ‘trust’ said twice.”

For better or worse, this elder was placing his people’s lives in their hands. Aedion almost wondered aloud if his faith may be misplaced but now, as he led these people from their homes, was not the time for doubt.

Kyllian and Luka headed back to the Bane, the villagers following like a massive herd of ducklings. Meanwhile, ten of the Bane joined Aedion in the village and they set about the grim task of staging their battle. They set torches to several homes, thatched roofs catching easily, flames licking at the thin fog, burning it away.

The livestock were next. They cut their throats, Aedion sending a silent apology to the animals as they did so. A few were left alive, some left dead, victims of carnage, and others were burned. Their charred bones scattered through the ash looked human enough, their blood reddening the snow the same as any person’s. The roaring river less than a quarter-league from the village offered another place the villagers’ bodies could have gone, a convenience Aedion knew they wouldn’t always have.

Surveying the charred remains of the village, it truly did look like a raid had happened. Aedion had done worse things for worse causes in his life, all the killing he’d had to do while working his way up the ranks. The one that haunted him the most was the brown haired girl with the poisonous words, her blood red as the rising sun behind her. Despite that, what he’d done today didn’t feel much better. The acrid reek of smoke and burning flesh still stuck in his nose, red blood still spattered his clothes and soaked the ground. 

Uther stalked up behind Aedion, shockingly silent for such a large man. Seemingly sensing Aedion’s foul mood he gave him a bone-breaking slap on the shoulder. “We did good here today,” he rumbled. “You have done well. I greatly admire your strength, General.”

From a man who could break his spine like a twig, Aedion thought that was quite the compliment. “Thank you, Uther. You and your  _ Bjorn _ are proving to be quite useful.” Indeed, their prodigious strength and knowledge of the North were indispensable. 

Uther shot Aedion a wide smile through his beard before lumbering off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the Bjorn are based off of Middle Ages Scandinavians (Vikings). I blame that on how much I’ve been watching History Channel’s show Vikings (it’s really good, but be warned it’s pretty violent.)
> 
> Also, it’ll hopefully be less than four months until the next chapter. I’m thinking two weeks, but we’ll see.
> 
> [the next chapter may also be plotless, gratuitous smut and the plot will continue in Ch 11. We’ll see how brave I’m feeling]


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m quarantined so chapters might be getting updated a bit quicker from now on since I’ve got no school and no reasonable sleep schedule

The now-familiar red carpeting was plush beneath his feet, white marble columns stark against the scarlet. The King looked exactly as he had the last time Aedion saw him, lounging like a tired lion, lazy yet lethal. “General Ashryver.”

“My King.” Aedion inclined his head in a mockery of a bow. The soldier standing on the King’s right, an officer if the medals decorating his jacket were any indication, fixed his sharp gaze on Aedion, disapproving. Aedion ignored him.

“I see your manners have not improved since we last spoke.” The King’s lips curled in a maddening smile. “I’d be disappointed if they had.”

Aedion stamped down the revulsion curling in his gut. “I’m always glad to live up to such high expectations, but isn’t it beneath your station to banter with a man like me?”

“Indeed, but you may be the only  _ male  _ with the steel in his spine to speak to me like this.” The word  _ male _ had the distinct ring of disdain to it. The King would not let Aedion forget who,  _ what, _ he was, no matter his tolerance of Aedion’s insolence. “I’ve summoned you here for good reason. You have proved yourself over these past years as my General. Your legion has done great work, important work, and done it well. Led, no less, by a boy just twenty years old.”

Barely keeping the flicker of annoyance off his face at the word boy, Aedion only dipped his head in acknowledgment. “I offer you a reward. Anything you ask, within reason.”

Supposing the King’s head on a pike was not ‘within reason,’ Aedion had only one thing he wanted. “I know you keep spoils of war, especially those with symbolic status. I would like the Sword of Orynth.” The officer once again shot Aedion a glare which, again, went ignored. At the upward flick of the King’s brow, Aedion knew an explanation was warranted. “The sword is a symbol of the North, of Terrassen’s power. What better way to flaunt Adarlan’s might than with the weapon of their murdered king?”

The King’s face didn’t change but his dark eyes flickered with a chilling light. “Very well.” He motioned idly to the officer who turned on his heel, marching from the throne room. A pleasantly cool smile graced the King’s face as he turned his attention back to Aedion. “I think you may find it more enjoyable to wait in the gardens.”

That was a dismissal if Aedion ever heard one, so with a sketched bow and a smirk he retreated from the throne room. He was at the doors when the King called out to him once again. “I received your gifts; they were much appreciated.”

Pausing only long enough to reply, “My pleasure,” Aedion slipped from the room.

The gifts, as the King so tactfully referred to them, had been heads previously belonging to known rebel officers. Aedion personally executed each of them — the weight of their lives would be born on his shoulders alone. For all the deception the Bane and Terrassen rebels pulled off, some things could not be avoided — some sacrifices had to be made.

Pushing away the thought of the officers Aedion wandered into the castle gardens. Making his way to the center, and therefore easy to find, he stood before a large glass fountain, arms crossed, feet planted. It was only minutes before he heard the crunch of gravel underfoot. The officer from the throne room had found him, a small serving girl scurrying at his heels carrying a cloth bundle that was evidently heavy for her thin arms. She held it out as the officer unwrapped the old, dirty rags. Presenting the sword to Aedion, the officer offered him a shallow bow. There was a thin layer of dust decorating the simple leather scabbard, familiar bone pommel cracked just as Aedion remembered. “This sword belongs best at the bottom of a river, but you asked and I deliver.”

“It’s about the symbolism,” Aedion crooned.

The officer leaned in close so their noses nearly touched. Though he stood almost on level with Aedion he was far thinner, almost storklike. His threatening posture was nearly comical. “Our king trusts you,” he snarled, “and he has little reason not to.” The meaningful glance he cast down at Aedion’s black ring spoke volumes about the rings’ sinister purpose. “However, I find myself not so trusting. If I get even a whiff of dissent from you-”

Grinning, Aedion cut him off. “What? You’ll kill me? If it were that easy, I’d be dead already.”

“No. I’d hurt someone close to you. Your second, perhaps? I hear he’s real pretty. Might be I’d give him to my men, see who wants a turn while you watch, helpless.” Aedion’s blood ran cold. He had to hand it to him, this man knew how to hit where it hurt the most. “In fact,” the officer added, “I hear he’s got a history of that type of thing.”

Aedion almost killed him. Rage roared through his body, filling his mind until he saw red. The only reason the officer’s blood didn’t decorate the gravel pathway was the squeak of terror that came from the serving girl. With an easy smirk, barely-disguised fury simmering just under the surface, Aedion took a step away from the officer. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m loyal as a dog, then.” Never pulling his gaze from the officer, Aedion fixed the sword belt around his waist, its weight somehow familiar despite Aedion never having touched the blade.  _ Home _ it said.

Dropping into a crouch he peered at the girl from closer to her level, gaze softening. “Thank you for the sword,” he murmured. She smiled, dropping the expression the second she realized and nodding demurely instead. He gestured with his head for her to go and she quickly ran off.

Standing, Aedion brushed nonexistent dirt off his shirt and gave the officer a wide grin. “Just for that threat, one day I’ll flay the skin from your bones.” His tone belied the absolute sincerity in his promise. He offered only a jaunty salute as goodbye, stalking away from the shocked officer with anger still lining his face. 

— 

“Your Majesty, I mean no disrespect, but why do you insist on keeping Ashryver around?”

The King seemed amused at the question. “I don’t believe for one second that he’s as loyal as he says, Carrington. He has no love for this country.”

Freshly shaken from his recent encounter with the general-prince, Carrington was more outspoken than he otherwise might have been. The man had been about to kill him, he was sure of it, and only a little girl’s terror had spared him. “I ask again, sire. Why not kill him?”

“Who else can brag of having a general capable of killing ten men with ease?”

“If it’s his skill you need-”

“It’s his rage. More useful than any sword training or Fae blood. Besides, although I doubt his loyalty, I don’t doubt his cooperation for a moment. He knows as well as I that were Terrassen to rise in full rebellion,  _ his _ people would suffer first. Killing the few saves the many.”

And if that were to change, the dark stone on his finger demanded obedience. Ashryver, the King thought with some delight, was his. Even the most vicious bitches could be turned into well-trained hounds, and even the most dangerous men could be brought to their knees. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ik technically Aedion got the sword after the Bane’s first battle when he was 18, but I moved it forward in time for this chapter just because. At this point, the Bane is two years old with around four years to go until the events of ToG (just for some perspective.)
> 
> Chapters are honestly probably going to get darker from here. I’m sorry and I promise not to hurt the characters too much :(
> 
> Actually, no promises


	11. Chapter 11

Aleya frowned, glancing around the crowded Rifthold tavern for Aedion. It was thirty-four minutes until one and he was nowhere to be seen. If he didn’t make an appearance soon she’d end up having to find him herself, a surprisingly difficult task considering his size, and one she didn’t quite feel like undertaking.

Luka slid into the corner booth beside her with an easy grin that she returned. Striking up a conversation with him was more difficult than either of the other two commanders, but once you got him to talk, he was great company. Less of a swaggering brute than some other people Aleya knew. Opening her mouth to greet Luka, her eye suddenly caught on Kyllian as he slipped from the washroom at the back of the tavern.

“Where’s Aedion?” she called out to him over the din, Kyllian replying with a vaguely guilty shrug and a smile. She was about to demand he give her a real answer when Aedion followed through the same door, running a hand through tousled-looking blonde hair.  _ Oh.  _

Burying the faint pang of jealousy, Aleya just shook her head in exasperation. Luka, too clever by half, peered at her with those dark, dark eyes of his. “Can I guess which of them that envy is for,” he asked, smiling, sobering quickly when Aleya delivered a sharp jab to his shoulder. Her anger softened at the gentle humor on his face and she huffed a reluctant laugh.

“If I was going after Kyllian, I’d be barking up the wrong tree. I’m afraid I don’t have quite enough under my belt for him.” Luka just tipped his head back and laughed. “Even so…” Aleya added, trailing off.

Seeing Kyllian and Aedion together… she’d be a fool to get between that. Aedion was, without a doubt, the most imposing person Aleya had ever met, his anger and his arrogance and his sheer physical power like a swirling maelstrom. With Kyllian, though, he was restrained — still intimidating, certainly, but a little softer around the edges.

She didn’t say any of this aloud but Luka followed her gaze over to the two men and seemed to pick up on her thoughts. “Even so,” he mimicked in agreement, swallowing the last of his ale in a large gulp. He gave Aleya a questioning glance and she pushed her half-full glass across the sticky table with a sigh.

“Go for it, Faron. I’ve got to stay sober anyways.” Tossing that back as well, he slid from the booth with a nod goodbye. Barely a minute later, Aedion returned from making his rounds around the party and took Luka’s place.

“You make enough of an appearance, yet?” Aleya cooed, letting a sly smile slip onto her face.

“Yes, I did,” Aedion returned, visibly turning on the charm. “I think I look sufficiently drunk, too.”

They continued like that, talking about useless nothings in the flirtatious tone usually used before people ended up in bed together, Aleya twirling her hair around her finger while Aedion let his eyes drop to her low neckline. To anyone who bothered to look, they’d only see the young general and assume he was going to have quite the night. Most revelers at the party could affirm they had talked to Aedion Ashryver and that he’d left, swaying drunk, with his arm low on the waist of a beautiful redhead.

Once they were in the street, several blocks from the tavern, Aedion pulled his arm back to his side. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, as he always did after these ruses.

“Next time actually grab my ass, it’ll make it more convincing,” Aleya replied.

He looked at her, blinking owlishly in surprise. Stifling a laugh, she shook her head. “I’m kidding, Aedion. If you ever do that I’m breaking your fingers.”

He chuckled low in his throat. “Woe to the next man who tries anything with you.”

The night they had met, surrounded by blood and hay in the stables, Aleya had resolved that no unwanted man would touch her without suffering the consequences. The two years since had been spent training under the watchful eye and skilled hands of a certain general and commanders — since then she’d fought side by side as a warrior with the Bane. The softer curves of her body were gone, fat stripped from her face, arms, and stomach as the harsh life of a soldier wore callouses into her hands. Now, with thin muscles cording her arms and legs and flat planes and dips of muscle on her stomach… she felt strong, powerful. And she had Aedion to thank for that first chance.

The streets around them were changing, the cobblestones uneven under their feet, buildings looking more and more dilapidated. Pulling the hood of his cloak up to hide his face, Aedion palmed a dagger that he’d hidden somewhere on his body. Aleya followed his lead, the familiar weight of her knife comforting in her hand.

Turning into a narrow alley, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The sputtering flames of the street lamps didn’t reach this far in the alley and she was relying on instinct alone, blind in the dark. Aedion appeared to have no problem with his Fae eyes, opening a door she would have walked right past and slipping through the entrance into an old, empty warehouse. Two men waited there for them, one single latern providing the barest possible light needed to see.

“Ashryver, you’re still alive. I assume that means your meeting with the king went well?” Marcus Jayne, a northern lord with an ego the size of the Western Wastes, scowled at Aleya and Aedion.

“Oh, the usual. Reclaimed my uncle’s sword, dropped off a few heads, you know how it is.” Aleya stifled a flicker of surprise about the sword, even as Jayne’s lips tightened at the mention of the heads. There was little love lost between him and Aedion, he’d always disapproved of the killing Aedion was forced to do, working close as he was with the king.  _ Easy, _ Aleya scoffed to herself,  _ for a man sending orders from the distant north to sit on his little throne and pretend to have the moral high ground.  _

Before Jayne could respond, however, the second man spoke. Aleya had never met him, only recognizing him by the cruel scar that spanned the bridge of his nose — Ronan Braugh, an Adarlan native and ex-criminal who had a bone to pick with the king. If the rumors were true, his family had been killed seven years ago when the magic wielders were wiped from the continent. “We ain’t come here for small talk. What news have ye got?”

“The Blackthorn valley village was raided by Adarlanian forces, but currently I have fifty of my men in the north helping the survivors, heading for the Silver Lakes…”

As Aedion and the other men spoke strategy, Aleya listened attentively. This was why she came to these meetings, her near-perfect memory and the fact that, as a woman, little was often expected of her. A little girl like her posed no threat to these big, scary, men. Fools. She remembered every word they said, every little movement they made.

When they turned to leave Jayne called after them, “one day you’ll introduce me to this redhead you always bring along.” Aedion shot her a wink to let her know he was only playing Jayne’s game before replying, “This beauty’s a courtesan, but I’ve already paid for tonight. Maybe another time.”

“In that case, I suppose your  _ friend _ Kyllian hasn’t been introduced either.” Neither missed the subtle threat in the words. As useful as Aedion was to the northern lords, he was still a wild card, a dangerous unknown, and they were keeping a careful eye on him.

In lieu of an answer, Aleya turned fast as an adder. The knife left her hand in a silver blur, burying itself in a wooden wall behind Jayne with a quiet  _ thunk.  _ Wiping the spot of blood from his nicked ear, Jayne snarled furiously at their retreating forms, his anger ignored.

The moment they were out of the warehouse, conversation about the rebellion ended. That was the kind of talk that only happened in secure warehouses and tents in the far north; in the streets of Rifthold, they were just two warriors stalking the slums in the dead of night. Once they’d made it a block away Aedion turned to Aleya with a grin on his handsome face. “Nice throw, whoever trained you must be proud.”

“That’s a shame,” she replied mildly, “since it wasn’t you who trained me. And I liked that knife.”

“Wasn’t me who-”

“Luka was the one who taught me knife-throwing and archery. Don’t take credit where it isn’t due, Ashryver.”

“Luka, huh?” The sharp bite of humor in his tone had her whirling to look at him, but under his cloak all she could make out was the white of his teeth and the glint of gold in his eyes.

Unsure how well he could see her, Aleya still narrowed her eyes at him, brows furrowing. “Problem, Aedion?”

“I’ve got no problem, but if it’s a touchy subject, I’ll drop it.”

She could feel her cheeks reddening, out of frustration or embarrassment she wasn’t sure. “It’s not a touchy subject, you’re the one making fun-”

“Aleya…” Aedion halted, grabbing her shoulder to stop her. She turned, reaching for his arm with an iron grip and twisting hard, but Aedion was too fast, too skilled, and he dodged her easily.

He ducked his head to peer down at her. “I’m only teasing, Aleya, but I am sorry.” His tone was genuine and she felt a flicker of shame for her temper. He was right, he  _ had  _ only been teasing, and she was once again letting her emotions get to her head, something she’d long struggled with.

Bastard, with his pretty face and his taunting humor and his unfailing loyalty.  _ Don’t let your schoolgirl crush cloud your head,  _ she scolded herself,  _ you’re better than pining after the same man for years.  _ “No, I’m sorry, I was getting angry over nothing.”

Aedion didn’t reply right away, instead straightening back up and resuming his strolling pace. She fell into step next to him in blessed silence that only lasted a minute.

“I’ve been teasing you the whole time about Luka and you just push me off…” the end of his sentence curled up like a tail, unfinished. 

Aleya heaved a sigh. “What now?”

“Do you prefer women?”

She laughed before catching the seriousness in his tone. “You’re not kidding?” She could have sworn that under his cloak his shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Well, believe it or not, there  _ are  _ people attracted to the opposite sex.”

“Hey, I-”

“And  _ only  _ the opposite sex.” Her tone was wry. 

“I thought that was a myth,” Aedion murmured, feigning surprise.

Sometime during the bantering they’d reached their inn. Standing outside the chipped wooden door to her room, she gave Aedion a small salute. “Until tomorrow, General.”

Aedion returned the salute with a “lieutenant.” She wasn’t a lieutenant, not really, but the commanders held a running joke that she did as much for the Bane as them. It was a half-truth.

She called after him down the hallway, “Have fun with your  _ friend.”  _ Adopting her best ‘mother’ voice she added “but not too much, you need your sleep!”

All she received in response was a rude gesture. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last bit of that crack-ass conversation was inspired by my friend who said, and I quote, “straight people must be a lie the government tells us so we keep repopulating, but I’m onto them and there’s no way you’d catch /me/ with a man.”


	12. This Chapter Never Happened, Okay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is plotless smut. Feel free to read it or not, you won’t miss any actual plot points.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s chalk this up to all the The Wknd I’ve been listening to and move on.

A clock tower somewhere in the city was chiming three by the time Aedion toed off his boots and slipped into bed. In the dark, the moonlight cast a silver square over the foot of the bed, providing enough light to make out Kyllian’s sleeping form. Or so he thought.

As soon as he pulled the sheets up to his chest Kyllian rolled over to face him. “How did the meeting go?”

“Braugh was all business and Jayne was a thorn in my ass. Nothing unusual.”

“And Aleya?”

“She threw a knife at Jayne. Nicked his ear, but he deserved it.”

That earned a low chuckle from Kyllian. “That’s my girl.”

They fell silent for a moment until Kyllian moved again, reaching out towards Aedion. “My love?”

Aedion ignored the dripping sarcasm in the term of endearment. “Yes?”

“Why, in the name of the gods, are you wearing pants? Did you think I wouldn’t take this opportunity to fuck you in an actual bed?”

Aedion reached out a hand and was met with the bare skin of Kyllian’s chest. Sliding it slowly down he found his side, his hip, his thigh to be equally bare. “It’s a little cold to be so exposed. If you need to warm up…”

Shaking his head at Aedion’s lame attempt at seduction, Kyllian deftly reached down under the blankets to undo the buttons of Aedion’s pants. “I think,” he crooned,”that it’s springtime, and a little too warm to be wearing so many clothes.”

Aedion was beginning to see his point as fire hummed under his skin, flaring at every touch of Kyllian’s body against his. The blankets were thrown to the foot of the bed as an afterthought as Aedion gave up on self control, pulling Kyllian in for a hard kiss. He rolled from his side to his back, allowing Kyllian on top of him.

Tangling his fingers in dark braids, Aedion lightly dragged a fingernail across the nape of Kyllian’s neck. This earned him a rewarding shudder and a tensing of the strong thighs bracketing his hips, Kyllian pulling back slightly so his lips barely brushed Aedion’s. “Do you know what you do to me?” he breathed, tawny eyes turned gold in the faint moonlight.

Aedion only gave him a wicked smile in response, moving so his mouth was on Kyllian’s throat. Sucking marks there, his tongue and lips moving against dark skin, he could feel the vibrations of Kyllian’s moans. Aedion slipped his hand down the smooth planes of Kyllian’s back, felt the ridges of his spine, dug his fingers into firm muscle.

Moving from where he knelt with Aedion’s hips between his thighs, Kyllian trailed quickly-healing marks down Aedion’s torso. When he reached his hips he glanced up Aedion’s body, shooting the general a wink through dark lashes before licking a long stripe up the midline of his stomach. The metal in his tongue was smooth but still a shock to feel, somehow slightly warmer than the rest of his mouth. “I’ll never get used to that,” Aedion groaned, stifling the urge to snap his hips up.

Kyllian's laugh was dark. “I know. That’s why I do it.”

“Bastard.”

Kyllian propped himself higher on his elbows, looking down at Aedion, curling one teasing finger into the waistband of his now-unbuttoned pants with a grin. “Keep talking like that and I’ll just draw this out.”

Aedion let his head fall back onto the pillow in defeat. Kyllian wasn’t bluffing — he could and would drag Aedion’s pleasure out for hours, straining every last fiber of his being until he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t tell where his body ended and Kyllian’s began. But of course Aedion would return the favor, and _ then _ they wouldn’t sleep until dawn.

Accepting Aedion’s surrender, Kyllian tugged his pants over his hips. He didn’t even give Aedion a chance to kick the fabric all the way off before he took him into his mouth. “Gods,” Aedion gasped, strangled; the wet heat of Kyllian’s mouth was almost too much to take. His hands once again found their way to Kyllian’s long braids, but the temptation to push down, to be rough, to urge him deeper was too strong. Instead, he curled his fists tight in the blankets, knuckles white as the sheets below him.

Kyllian’s strong hands gripped Aedion’s hips in place as he gazed up, eyes meeting his in an absolutely filthy stare. All too soon he felt a coiled tension in the pit of his stomach, building fast. His hands twisted the sheets beneath him as his muscles trembled with restraint. 

Head dropping back, Aedion’s mouth fell open, gasping a warning to Kyllian who pulled off just long enough to grin at Aedion. The tilt of his head, the way his lips curled higher on the left than the right; everything about the look was so  _ him _ that Aedion could only return the smile.

When Kyllian’s head dipped back down to Aedion’s cock, he nearly let the commander continue, so close to the edge. Instead, he ground out, “fuck me. Please.”

Those full lips parted in surprise, a faint gasp betraying how much Aedion’s request aroused him. Aedion’s fingers felt clumsy but he still reached over to the small bedside table, grasping the vial of oils there. Kyllian sat up, kneeling over Aedion’s legs, broad chest heaving slightly. The gold in his eyes was molten heat, gaze following each of Aedion’s movements with a dark intensity. Just before Aedion poured the oils over his fingers, a hand closed around his wrist. “I’ll do it.” Kyllian’s voice was rough, wrecked and he hadn’t even touched himself. They maneuvered so Kyllian was now between Aedion’s legs, not straddling them. 

This was hardly the first time they’d done this. Sometimes Aedion would use his own fingers to prepare himself, other times Kyllian would lean close and allow his fingers, then his cock, to fill Aedion. It was never the other way, never Aedion fucking Kyllian, not after — 

— As Kyllian slipped one finger to the first knuckle, Aedion forgot how to think. Slowly working Aedion open, Kyllian’s cock brushed his from where he sat over him, a tempting reminder of what Aedion was about to get. The older man leaned down to pull Aedion’s lower lip between his teeth while his fingers slowly worked in and out. Aedion pulled back from the bruising kiss after a moment. “I’m ready.”

“You sure?”

“I’m about to lose any control I have,” he said through gritted teeth. “Please, now.”

Kyllian poured a little more oil onto his fingers, stroking himself once, twice. Sometimes Aedion wished he’d be less cautious, wanted the barest hint of pain with the pleasure, but he never dared suggest it.

As it was, the feeling of Kyllian sliding into him, filling him, was satisfying in a way he couldn’t imagine, always forgetting  _ how  _ good it could be until it was happening. 

The painstakingly slow pace Kyllian set was not going to cut it. Aedion rolled his hips up, trying to get more, gods,  _ more. _ Already strung out and near the edge, Aedion’s legs were trembling, spreading wider apart as Kyllian fucked him. The obscene sound of skin on skin filling the room, Kyllian’s hands gripped Aedion’s thighs hard enough to bruise, his steady rhythm falling apart the closer he got.

Aedion watched with a curious hunger as a droplet of sweat trailed down Kyllian’s chest. His eyes rose to the strong column of his throat, wanting to taste the salt there. Finally, his gaze went to Kyllian’s face. A mistake. The open-mouthed, blissed-out pleasure he saw there was the final straw.

Aedion found his release with a barely-stifled cry. Kyllian’s cock wrung every last bit of pleasure from him, hard thrusts carrying him through the last waves of his orgasm. Now oversensitive, Kyllian inside him was nearly too much. Through breathless pants he gasped out Kyllian’s name, hand finding the back of his neck and pulling him in. The kiss was messy and rough, but Aedion wouldn’t have it any other way. “Come for me, Kyllian,” he murmured against his skin.

As Kyllian’s release barreled through him he moaned, hand somehow tightening further on Aedion’s thigh. When he stilled Aedion pulled him back in for another kiss, reluctant to lose the feeling of their bodies so close, even as spent as they were.

After a moment Kyllian carefully pulled out of Aedion. “I’ll get something to clean up with,” he murmured, voice hoarse. When he stood, walking to the washbasin in the corner of the room, Aedion admired the shift of muscle under his dark skin, the lithe grace in every step.

“You should consider wearing clothes as minimally as possible.”

“Right. I’m sure everyone would love that.”

“Honestly,” Aedion hummed, “you’d be doing a public service.”

“Something tells me,” Kyllian replied wryly as he handed the damp washcloth to Aedion, “that you’re biased on this matter.”

Pushing himself so he sat up against the headboard, Aedion gave his partner a one-shouldered shrug and an easy smile.

After cleaning up, the smell of sex lingering in Aedion’s Fae nose, they pulled the blankets back up the bed and slipped under them. It was quiet for long enough that Aedion assumed Kyllian was sleeping, taking advantage of the precious few hours until they had to wake, when his voice came through the lightening room.

“I know before this — ” the faint rustling of sheets told Aedion Kyllian was gesturing, though he couldn’t strictly see the movement under the blanket, “you often preferred to, uh, be on top. To be doing the fucking. I can’t offer you that choice; I wish I could, but I can’t. So if you ever want to…”

Aedion silenced Kyllian with a finger to his lips. “If you suggest I fuck other people, you’ve lost your mind.”

“But if you-”

“No. Just because it’s not what I  _ used to do, _ doesn’t mean I get any less enjoyment from it. Tonight should have shown you that, if not the hundreds of other times we’ve slept together.” Aedion’s tone became more serious. “I don’t want you to ever think what you give me isn’t enough. It’s more than enough, all of it, and I don’t just mean the sex. I  _ never _ want you to feel you have to do something that you’re not okay with, either. I know your past isn’t something you can just… erase.”

After a long pause, Kyllian only replied, “thank you, Aedion.

“Of course,” Aedion added with a small laugh, “I’d never tell anyone else this. What a way to ruin my reputation. The General of the Bane, famed Wolf in the North, likes taking it up the ass from his second! How the people would talk!” His bemoaning was followed by a sarcastic snort which Kyllian mimicked a second later.

“Next time you piss me off, Ashryver, I just might let slip.”

“Oh, that’s funny.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought I would introduce a childhood trauma but then literally never mention it again? Fools.


	13. Chapter 13

The scout came flying past the men, wheeling his horse around in front of his general with fear in his eyes, breathing almost as hard as his mount. “There’s a force of soldiers, Adarlanian by the looks of it. Likely fifty or so men headed in our direction and moving fast. I give it until tomorrow morning before they catch up to us.”

“Fuck,” Aedion snarled as alarm flooded Kyllian’s veins. Right now the Bane, usually three hundred strong, numbered closer to four hundred with the men, women, and children they had taken into their ranks. Evacuated from a village the Bane had been ordered to sack, they were being moved to the Silver Lakes, a safe spot for rebels and Terrassen civilians. If the Adarlanian soldiers caught up to them it would be obvious what the Bane was doing, and these men’s heads would be under the chopping block before anyone could say a word.

“We can’t move any faster,” Luka said. “These people are being pushed to their limits even now and with such large numbers…”

No, their only option was to stop or slow the soldiers. But how? How did they make sure none of the king’s men escaped, none caught even a whiff of the Bane’s movements? Kyllian’s hand went to his earrings, twirling the metal in his ear in an anxious, habitual movement.

“What are the most powerful weapons we have?” The intensity in Aedion’s voice almost made him jump.

“We’re not a siege army, our strongest weapons may just be the Bjorn’s battle axes. Why?”

But Aedion had that light in his eyes, the determination that came before a truly stupid idea, and he didn’t answer. Instead, he turned on his heel and began walking into the crowd of men behind him, searching for someone. Kyllian’s eyes met Luka’s in an exasperated look.

When Aedion returned he held a massive battle-axe, nearly taller than himself. Kyllian gripped his upper arm tight enough to hurt. “You’re not taking another step until you tell me what your harebrained plan is. You going to take on fifty men with an axe and some prayers to the gods?”

The Bane and their refugees parted around and continued on past the two still figures.

“The ice caverns, Kyllian.”

“What about them?”

The caverns were a warren of twisting tunnels of packed snow and ice. They provided a shorter route through the mountains, but for a force as large as the Bane they were too narrow, too dangerous. Instead, they’d wasted precious time on the long route.

“They have fifty well-trained soldiers, I can almost guarantee they’ll go  _ through _ the caverns instead of around.”

Kyllian was becoming impatient. “And?” he pressed.

“And if I can bring the caverns down on them, not only will it stop them in their tracks, it will look like an accident. Avalanches are frequent in these mountains, especially in the spring when the snows start to melt.”

Kyllian laughed, actually laughed. “And you’re going to bring down an entire network of ice caves with an axe? Assuming you manage that, what next? How do you escape the avalanche that causes, the tons and tons of ice and rock crashing down?”

“It’s the best possible way to do this, Kyllian.” Aedion’s jaw was set and his stubbornness broke Kyllian’s heart. Aedion had always been reckless and wild, but the past months even more so, to the point of real risk. Like he had a death wish.

A sudden rage flared in the space where anguish had been. “I’m sick of this, Aedion, throwing yourself in front of every sword hoping it’s the one that finally hits. You endanger yourself and everyone else in your idiotic game, toying with death like this. You’re like a storm, you come whirling in and your wind pulls people to you but it destroys, too. Washes everyone up in this flood, wears away at the earth until everyone around you is sinking as well.” Kyllian knew how horrible his words were, how deep they had to strike, but in his anger he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Am I not enough? Aleya, and Luka and this whole damn legion — all not enough to keep you here?”

Aedion’s growl was primal, full of anger Kyllian had never,  _ never  _ expected to be directed at him. “I’m doing this to  _ protect _ these people.”

As soon as he said it he was gone, disappeared into the throng of men, and Kyllian felt his anger dissipate. Gods, what had he  _ said? “ _ Aedion!” he called out, but he either went unheard or ignored. Heart beat picking up, Kyllian tore through the people around him. He couldn’t let Aedion leave with that fury as his goodbye.

It was minutes later when, still searching, he almost slammed directly into Aleya. “Have you seen Aedion?”

She had a strange look in her green eyes, full of worry and something else unreadable. “I just caught him moments before he galloped back east, a Bjorn’s axe strapped to his back.” East. Towards the caverns. Kyllian felt dizzy.

“He handed me this, Kyllian. Told me to give it to you.”

When he saw what Aleya held, nausea rose in his stomach — the Sword of Orynth’s cracked bone pommel peeking above the worn leather of its sheath. If Aedion had given him the sword…he wasn’t expecting to make it out of those caverns.

~

As Aedion rode east, the wind whipping his hair around his face, he pushed down the anger that clawed at him. Who was Kyllian to say those things? A tiny voice at the back of his head whispered that maybe, just maybe, his Second was right: that voice got pushed down too. In reality, his idea for bringing down the caverns was foolish at best, insane at worst.

At the center of the winding caverns stood a massive stone statue. Called the Titan, the statue had been there before any could remember, hailing back to some ancient people from long ago. Whatever magic had constructed the caverns had to have been used on the Titan, whose outstretched arms reached impossibly high, fashioned as though supporting the icy ceiling. There was a chance, a slim chance, that bringing down the Titan would take the rest of the caverns with it.

Aedion urged his horse onward, nearly to the point of exhaustion. This plan hinged on timing, and if Aedion arrived at the Titan after the soldiers had passed, it was all useless.

The mouth of the caverns yawned ahead of him and he pulled his horse to a stop. Swinging his leg around he dismounted and gave her a sharp smack, urging her away. She took off, reins flying as she raced back the way they’d come. “Smart girl,” he murmured, even as he turned to the caverns. Aedion ran, feet slipping on the ice, breath clouding in the cold air. He hadn’t brought a lantern, barely able to make out enough light to see.

It was nearly a league from the entrance that he found the Titan, situated halfway through the tunnels. Panting, Aedion listened, focusing his sharp ears on every noise around him. For a moment, only the drip of water was heard but then, the faintest sound of voices, of clanking metal. He could tell by their volume, by the tinny echoes, that they were in the caverns.

Now or never.

He swung the axe as hard as he could, connecting with the Titan’s shin. The steel, though impossibly strong, bounced off the stone with barely a scratch. Pulling his lips back from his teeth Aedion summoned his strength and swung again. This time, the barest chip of stone.

Any other axe would have shattered under the blows but the Bjorn’s blood-forged steel held. Aedion could only thank the gods for that, and whatever smith had made this weapon.

Again and again he swung, stronger than any man, fueled by anger and desperation and  _ pain.  _ The Bane was relying on him, Aleya and Luka and Kyllian. Gods, Kyllian. His words hadn’t stopped replaying in Aedion’s head since he left, twisting his stomach sickeningly.

“...like a storm.”

Strike.

“Washes everyone up in this flood…”

Strike. 

“...until everyone around you is sinking too.”

Strike.

Finally, cracks were spiderwebbing up the Titan’s calf. The soldiers’ voices kept growing nearer as Aedion continued his endless, exhausting work. He was beginning to think he should abandon this, escape while he could, when the first soldier spotted him.

“Hey!” the man barked, but Aedion ignored him. When an arrow whizzed past his head he didn’t stop. They could shoot him if they wished, but he and every one of them wouldn’t live to see the sunset. An arrow struck his thigh and he grunted in pain, shifting more weight to the other leg and connecting metal to stone once again. The next arrow struck his shoulder, the third burying itself lower, in his pectoral. The burning ache spread across his chest and he nearly fell to his knees.

Close. So close.

Summoning the last scrap of strength in his battered body, his final blow was what toppled the Titan. Shouts of anger turned to shouts of alarm from the soldiers as cracks split up the Titan’s body, spreading outward from his hands to the roof, the walls. Aedion had guessed right, whatever magic had built the Titan was directly connected to that which had built the caverns, and its last vestiges were finally spent.

Injured and slow, Aedion still ran as fast as his body allowed. The cracks spread faster, a deep, dangerous rumble emanating from somewhere within the mountain. He had barely emerged from the caverns into the light of day when the ground collapsed beneath him.

Swept up into the raging snow and earth, his battered body left to the whims of nature, it was all he could do to keep from being dragged completely under.

The irony was almost funny.

Then, suddenly, he was falling, snow and debris falling with him as he plunged downwards. Unable to see below him, Aedion assumed he was about to become pulp at the bottom of a cliff. When his body hit frigid water, the river swollen from snowmelt and rushing hurriedly along, he was once again surrendered to nature’s every fickle decision.

Under the water he began to grow numb, unable to tell what was up or down. The rushing, the cold, the agony…it was all endless. He began to wonder if he had died and this was hell, a freezing, watery grave for the rest of eternity.

But no, because a pale hand was reaching for him through the water. He moved to grasp it but the person pulled away from him.  _ Why?  _ He tried to ask, but water was filling his burning lungs. Then a girl’s face appeared before him, lip curled in hatred. He knew her, her blood had decorated his blade as his final test of loyalty. Another face, a rebel officer, felled by Aedion’s sword under orders from the king. Rhoe and Evalin’s faces swam by, then countless others, all hissing  _ killer  _ as the current swept them along.

The river seemed to have slowed, or maybe that was just Aedion’s heart. He now drifted gently, hair floating around his head, chest crying out for air. Another hand reached out to him now, and he wanted to cry out  _ no more _ until he saw the face.

_ Come, Aedion, _ his mother beckoned, as beautiful and ageless as she had been before the illness.  _ Come with me, come rest. _

Finally,  _ finally, _ he surrendered. He wasn’t cold anymore, his lungs no longer aching. She was so close, he could reach out and-

Yanked back. A hand, corporeal, physical, was now gripping his arm and he was being pulled from the river, yet he didn’t have the strength to fight, to even open his eyes. Some words were murmured above him, strange words he didn’t know, and someone was pressing down on his chest hard, repeatedly.

In a great rush the water left his lungs. He gagged, sputtering, as the world swam back into focus, cold returning to his limbs with a vengeance. A person loomed over him, a young woman, but Aedion couldn’t make out her face, only catching waves of inky hair and a bright, crimson cloak before unconsciousness claimed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops?


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote most of this last night and was going to post but before I wrote the last 300 words or so I fell asleep. My bad.

When Aedion awoke, the first thing he noticed was the pain. Every bone and muscle burned and a sharp ache was crawling up his shoulder and thigh. His head was pounding, the gently flickering firelight too bright for his eyes.

The Crochan who’d pulled him from the river was on the other side of the little hut, hunched over a table. When he stirred awake she turned to him with a grim smile. “By all rights, you should have died.”

Aedion couldn’t move, could barely summon the strength to rasp, “you should have let me.”

One dark brow arched at his words. “I did not spend time and effort saving your life so you could  _ complain _ about it.” Every breath was an effort, yet Aedion still managed a huff of laughter at her annoyance.

Silence followed, the realities of his situation crashing back down upon Aedion. Bone-deep weariness weighted his limbs and he let sleep once again claim him; this time, his mind was filled with a haze of dreams.

A girl stood before him, maybe fifteen years old. A hooded cloak concealed her face, her slender hands gripping twin blades. Aedion felt he knew her, but when he tried to call out she slipped away into the darkness with an uncanny grace.

A lion paced the hut, large head swinging back and forth. It stopped, tawny eyes gazing at Aedion for a long moment before it, too, faded into the darkness.

A slender woman, her hair a brilliant white-blond, was arguing with a handsome, blue-eyed man. A heavy gold crown rested on his dark hair and a strange pendant hung from the woman’s neck. Aedion couldn’t hear their words, only sense their foreboding, their fear. 

His mother, younger than he’d ever seen her, dancing with a tall, blonde Fae. The warrior’s back was to Aedion, his face unseen.

The same Fae, on his knees before a dark-haired Queen, regret and fear sour tastes on his tongue.

Then light creeping in, pushing away the images until Aedion was forced to open his eyes.

The Crochan was now seated at the table she’d been hunched over before. A book was open in front of her but she wasn’t reading, her gaze instead focused on Aedion. Seeing him awake, she seemed to relax slightly. “The herbs I used for infection in those arrow wounds can cause strange dreams. I’m sorry if they disturbed you.”

Aedion blinked slowly, still not convinced this was totally real. He kept waiting for the witch to fade into a foggy black but she didn’t, only watched him with an intense focus.

For some reason Aedion’s addled brain kept returning to one thing. “My mother was there, in my dream. And in the river.”

The witch’s face didn’t change at his words, still a cool, evaluating mask, but she leaned forward so her elbows were braced on her knees. “Do you still wish to die, Fae?”

Aedion said no, and it was the truth. Enough of the truth. Before, he’d been fully ready to join his mother, join the hundreds of souls that had whirled around him in that river. Now, though, he realized that regardless of Kyllian’s anger, regardless of Aleya whom he’d left without explanation, he had a job to finish. The Bane still needed him and he knew, dead or alive, he wouldn’t be able to rest as long as the King sat on that bloody throne.

The witch seemed to believe his answer, replying only with a short nod before turning back to her book. Barely a moment later her attention was returned to Aedion. “Were you truly so lonely? Do you have no one to hold you at night?” Her questions seemed to come from a strange mix of curiosity and concern, detached enough that Aedion didn’t think twice about answering truthfully.

“I don’t think it came from loneliness as much as an…overwhelming. And I did have someone, but we fought right before I left. I was being childish and stubborn and refused to listen, but truly angry words were spoken between us.”

“But did that anger come from a place of hate? Or a place of love? That is the difference you have to find.” Seeing the surprise on his face, her lips curled in the barest smile. “Based on your expression, you assumed she hated you.” Aedion didn’t bother to correct her on the pronoun. 

Her wisdom was a rude awakening. Kyllian hadn’t been furious  _ at _ Aedion, he’d been concerned and all that anxiety finally boiled over into anger, an emotion far easier to express than worry.

“How old are you?”

She sat back in her chair, hands folded in her lap. “Twenty six. Will you be able to hold food down?”

The sudden change of topic made Aedion blink. “I suppose so. What’s your name?”

She didn’t reply for a long moment, long enough that Aedion got the sense she valued anonymity. 

“Vanja,” she finally said. Whether it was her real name didn’t matter to Aedion, having a name to call her instead of just ‘Crochan’ felt far more civil.

“Where are we? Where did you find me?”

“We’re in the northern Anascaul mountains, about twenty leagues east of the Frozen Wastes.”

At Vanja’s words Aedion shot up. His shoulder flared in pain but he almost didn’t feel it through his panic. “How long ago did you find me?”

Gods above, if he wasn’t even in the right mountain range… he had no idea what day it was, no idea where the Bane might be or how he’d get back to them. The longer he was gone the more likely they’d believe him dead, a pain he hoped to spare them.

This time, Vanja’s hesitance worried him. After several seconds she answered. “I found you near dusk. It’s now mid morning, making it just under three days.”

Aedion had every intention of standing but the second his legs were under him, they nearly buckled. “Easy there, I’m not sure you realize how close to dead you were. You’re going to need more time to heal, Fae or no.”

“I can’t, I have to-” Aedion was stopped when Vanja pressed a hand to his chest, gently pushing him back down to the bedroll. She crossed her arms from where she stood over him, staring down. 

“You’ll open your stitches, big guy. Now, if you promise to stay like that, I’ll get you some food.”

Aedion realized he was, in fact, starving. He gave her his best winning smile. “I promise.”

She rolled her eyes, turning away to hang an iron pot over the fire burning. With nothing better to do, he watched her bustle around the tiny hut preparing food, humming a low, eerie song as she worked. Once the stew was ready she spooned out a bowl for Aedion and herself, gesturing for him to sit up.

They ate in silence until Aedion finally asked the question that had been nagging at the back of his mind. “Why are you helping me? I don’t have anything to pay you with right now and I can’t imagine the effort and supplies it’s taken to save my life.” Truth be told, he felt guilty.

“I live in the Western Kingdoms, moving from town to town and healing people for coin. I come to the Anascaul because in all that untouched wild, you can find herbs and plants that grow nowhere else. This hut is mine, built once I realized I’d be frequenting these mountains and should have a place to stay; right now I’m here collecting supplies. As for  _ why  _ I’m helping you, I suppose it goes against my nature to leave someone drowning in a river, even when that someone proves to be the King’s best killer.” 

He flinched at her words, not daring to correct her. His reputation was what protected him, after all. “You know who I am.” It wasn’t a question.

Vanja held his gaze, intensity in her rich brown eyes. “Aedion Ashryver.” His name sounded strange on her tongue, musical, not the spitting curse he was used to. “Strangely enough, you don’t intimidate me, though having seen someone naked can have that effect.”

“Naked?” Aedion’s brow flicked upwards.

“I had to dress that wound on your thigh somehow. Interesting that you didn’t blush, most people do when I tell them that.” Vanja’s tone was full of the same blunt honesty that came through her every word.

Aedion had been seen by far too many people for that to bother him anymore. With some mockery in his tone he asked, “would you prefer I be some blushing maiden?”

“Please, I have no interest in any of that, seasoned warrior or blushing maiden makes no matter.” She leaned back in her small wooden chair until the back legs were its only support and clasped her hands in front of her.

Another question occurred to Aedion, then. “You called me Fae earlier. How did you know?”

“You’re too pretty to be human.” Aedion gave a short laugh but she didn’t seem to be joking. “Also, Ashryver, you’re a little bit of a legend. Everyone knows of the Demi-Fae prince wreaking havoc in the north.”

“Speaking of…”

“You need news of your legion.” Aedion nodded. “I’m afraid I have none, but there’s a village about two leagues south of here. You’re healing incredibly fast, tomorrow if you’re well enough you may be able to go there and see what news they have. In the meantime, eat up.” She pointed with her spoon towards the pot still hanging over the fire, bubbling gently. “I’m going out to collect my plants, and I’ll be back by sunset.”

Once she left, Aedion took the time to glance around the hut. It was small but well-built, just large enough for everything in it with some walking room to spare. Shelves along one wall held a variety of salves and medicines while drying medicinal herbs hung from the ceiling.

Aedion summoned his strength and managed to stand, making his way to the door. He sat on the threshold, door open, letting the mountain breeze brush his face, and stayed that way until Vanja returned. They ate again, this time in silence broken only by the scrape of spoons on the wooden bowls. By the time the sun had sunk below the horizon, it was all Aedion could do to make it to his bedroll before slipping into the sweet oblivion of a dreamless sleep.

~

“I don’t pay much attention usually, but my nephew’s here to visit from down south a little bit. He says the Bane passed right by his village. Rumors are sayin’ they were headed for Rosamel.”

Aedion now knew where they were going, and it wasn’t Rosamel. A rebel camp was hidden at the westernmost border of Oakwald and the Anascaul Mountains, and he’d bet gold that at least a part of the legion was headed there. 

“When was this?”

The shopkeeper laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, my nephew just arrived last night, but he said it happened… oh I don’t know. The day before last? Why?” Aedion tried for a casual shrug. “A nice lad like you shouldn’t be out looking for trouble like that.”

He stifled a laugh. He towered over this woman, and he hadn’t been called a ‘nice lad’ a day in his life. Thanking the woman, he hurried from her shop before she could ask any more questions.

Based on what she’d said, they were likely about a day out from the camp. If Aedion hurried, he could make it to the camp before the Bane left again.

By the time he got back to Vanja’s hut his head was spinning, legs leaden. She took one look at him and said, “you’re not leaving like that.”

“I have to. Where’s my armor?” Vanja looked like she’d put up a fight, but after a few seconds she only shrugged and glanced upwards. His breastplate and vambraces hung from the rafters next to the drying plants.

“They were wet,” she said in explanation, Aedion sighing and pulling them down, strapping them on loosely. “How are you going to travel? Not on foot, I hope.” Aedion shook his head guiltily. “You have no mon… you’re going to steal a horse, aren’t you?”

Damn, she caught on fast. “I have no other option.” Aedion was out the door before he turned back with a small smile. “Thank you, Vanja. For everything.”

“You know, you’re not too bad for a killer,” was all she said in goodbye, turning and shutting her door behind her. With those parting words, Aedion set off for the village once again. He was loath to steal from these honest, hard working people, but he left his armor as small compensation. Though scratched and dented in places, it was of fine make and could fetch good silver at a market.

Giving his stolen horse his heels he galloped south from the village. Over the next three days he pushed the poor animal as hard as he dared. Spring had finally come to the mountains, water and game easy enough to find. Alone in the woods he slept fitfully, aware of the dangers that arose every time he closed his eyes.

Finally, nearing dusk on his third day of travel, he rode his horse straight into the camp. The guards recognized him, allowed him through the gates with whoops of triumph at their general, returned at last, alive. Dirty, exhausted, and still-injured, Aedion limped through the camp receiving cheers, slaps on the back, or just wide grins from every man he passed. He returned as many greetings as he could, but his mind was on a certain few people.

Those people who waited for him in the center of camp with varied expressions on their faces. 

Aedion went to Luka first, the only one of them he could look in the eye. He was pulled into a rib-crushing embrace by his third, returning it with all the strength he could muster.

Next he turned to Aleya. Aleya, whom he’d left with the Sword of Orynth and no explanation. She had tears in her green eyes, and she smiled wide when he stooped to hug her. He lifted her off the ground, her arms around his neck as she mumbled halfhearted insults at him.

Then Kyllian, whose furious words had echoed in his mind for days on end. Kyllian, at whom he’d directed all his pent up rage like a foolish child. Kyllian held his gaze for a long moment, arms crossed, and Aedion was seconds away from begging forgiveness on his knees, heart in his throat.

“You look fucking horrible.”

Aedion didn’t move, barely breathed.

“But I guess dirt, blood and sweat are only improvements on your hideous face,” Kyllian laughed, that stupid, lopsided smile splitting frown. Aedion resisted the urge to kiss it right off him, settling instead for taking him into his arms. He buried his face in Kyllian’s neck, once again surrounded by that familiar scent like the sun-baked earth. It made him ache for what he had to do.

~

“You really did bring down the caverns with a gods-damned axe.” Kyllian’s tone was full of wonder.

“If it makes you feel any better, it was no normal axe. It should have shattered on the stone.”

“You’re alive because of luck and good guessing.” Aedion could feel Kyllian’s eyes on him but didn’t turn to look, instead watching the silvery moon high above them. “Honestly, Aedion, I’m not sure how to help you. I feel like I should and I  _ want to,  _ so badly, but I just don’t know how.” Somehow his voice was steady, even as tears threatened Aedion’s eyes.

Aedion’s voice came out a near whisper. “When I was drowning in that river, seeing everyone I’ve killed, everything I’ve done… it made me realize I can’t die. I have too much to do here, and if I’m gone before that tyrant is dead and buried I’ll haunt these lands until he is. What you said-”

Kyllian cut him off. “I’m sorry about every word that came out of my mouth that day. Thinking they were the last words I’d ever say to you? I couldn’t stand it.” He took a deep, shuddering breath and Aedion finally turned to look at him, the strong lines of his face highlighted in sharp silver.

“No. You were right to say it. What you said about not being enough — you are. You, Aleya, Luka, the Bane. It’s more than enough and I was foolish not to see it. But…” Aedion trailed off. He couldn’t look at Kyllian, not now, instead turning back to the night sky. “...but I can’t love you the way you deserve, not when I can barely tolerate myself.”

“Hey,” Kyllian murmured, voice achingly gentle. He gripped Aedion’s chin lightly with his fingertips, turning so he was forced to face him. “I understand, I really do. You’ve got to get yourself in a good place before dealing with anybody else.”

Relief flooded Aedion’s veins at Kyllian’s understanding. They lapsed into silence for a long moment, the quiet noises of the camp flowing around them, unceasing, until Aedion broke the spell that had fallen between the two of them. “How long did it take, for you, after…”

Kyllian didn’t have to ask what after, just hummed in thought before replying, “years. I mean, I still carry scars from it, as you well know, but it took years to stop seeing myself as dirty, as unclean or tarnished goods.” His tone was matter-of-fact but the tension in his body belied his hurt.

“I’m sorry to bring it up.”

“Talking about it is one of the best things I can do, so I’ve heard.”

“Yeah,” Aedion chuckled, “apparently bottling everything up ‘is bad for you.’”

His head tilted back, Kyllian didn’t respond, just laughed. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Therapy: expensive  
Sharing all your feelings with the sarcastic Crochan who saved your life: free
> 
> I’m going to go on record and say I didn’t want to break them up, but I had to for canon’s sake.
> 
> Also in case you’re wondering, Vanja is pronounced with the Nordic “J” so it makes a y sound (aka Vanya)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just plotless fluff and crack that I wrote as a break before more pain. Sorry.

Aedion’s hand was curled tight, nails digging into his palms as he hissed in pain. His ribs felt like they were burning, hot fire flaring anew at each break in his skin.

Aleya and Kyllian only laughed at his agony.

“I’ve seen you bleeding out in the mud with an arrow through your gut and  _ this  _ is what you bitch about?”

Aedion let his lip curl back from his teeth in a halfhearted snarl at his Second, even as Luka laughed quietly. “I don’t want to hear anything from you,” Aedion growled, gesturing to him. “Or you,” he added with a finger pointed right at Aleya. Luka’s plea to  _ stop moving _ was nearly ignored before Aedion remembered the sharp tools he held, but Aleya just watched with a poorly-hidden smirk.

“I’m not even saying anything!” she protested, adding, “I’m just enjoying the view.”

Aedion only rolled his eyes as Kyllian let out a low laugh. “You can look all you like, but let’s not forget who all that belonged to for years. What?” he scoffed at Aedion’s mutinous look, even as Aleya delivered a light punch to his shoulder, “I’m only kidding.”

“I’m going to-”

“What are you going to do? You’re currently stuck on that table half-naked while Luka inks your ribs.” 

Aleya snorted at that, doubling over with laughter. “The little Wolf Cub is all bark and no bite.”

That was apparently funny enough that Luka was forced to put down his tools for a moment, laughing. Aedion’s only ally in this teasing, turned to their side. He tried not to feel too offended.

Aleya and Kyllian were merciless for the rest of the time it took Luka to tattoo the curling Terrassen knot. When he finished he glanced up, expression sobering. The knot was only half the design.

His family’s names were added, curled around the top left. Pointing north and east if one were to look at a map, right where Orynth and Terrassen nestled. Home. 

Evalin, Rhoe, Aelin. His mother, Evanna.

The lower left side was claimed by other names, more recent in his life though no less dear to him. 

Kyllian, Aleya, Luka, Byrne.

Unable to stand the silence that had settled over them at the names, Aedion looked to Luka’s bicep where an ornate band wrapped around stood out from dark skin. “Who did those for you?”

“When I first sailed to Erilea I was on a ship with a few dozen other people like me, from my same island or surrounding ones. One woman had been the medicine woman of her village but she had done tattoos for many of her people as well. She taught me how to do this.”

Nodding to the small, curved tattoo on Luka’s neck he asked, “Is that from the same woman?”

Luka nodded a confirmation. “It’s a fishhook, a symbol of luck and prosperity.”

For all the years Aedion had known Luka, he knew remarkably little about the man’s life; his Third could be private to the point of reclusive. 

“What’s the name of your island? I’ve never asked.” This time the question came from Aleya.

Luka paused in his work to turn to her, amusement glittering in his dark eyes. “Te Rangi, ‘paradise’ or ‘heavens.’ And my real name is Kauri.”

His words caused, predictably, an uproar. “I’ve known you for four years and the whole time it wasn’t even your real name?” Kyllian spluttered.

Luka laughed, clearly enjoying the chaos he had caused. “My parents wanted to give me a name more usual to the common tongue, so they tacked on Luka as a middle name. Why they chose that out of everything, I don’t know.”

“Would you prefer we call you Kauri?” Aleya asked, but he shook his head.

“When I left home I started using ‘Luka’ mostly because I wanted to separate the island from this place. What I do here is so far separate in my mind from the sand and warmth of home, and I want to keep it that way.”

Aedion understood. For him, his own home, his own land, had been soaked in blood from the beginning, and it was only natural to connect reddened earth with the country he fought for. 

But to come from a place of childhood innocence so different from the cold, rocky north…To come here and become a soldier, a warrior, to kill and scheme and fight and maybe die in this foreign land, Aedion thought he understood the divide that had to exist.

“Anybody else have something they need to share?” Aedion asked, “before we hit the five-year mark and it becomes too late for that kind of thing?”

“I was married.”

Three heads whipped around to look at Aleya as Aedion roared, “are you kidding me?”

She had the good grace to look a little sheepish.

“It was a few months before I ended up in the camp where I met you. A man paid me to marry him so he’d have documents of marriage, paperwork he needed for some official thing or other. I didn’t ask what exactly.” She saw the concern furrowing Kyllian’s brow and she shook her head. “He never laid a hand on me. We were married, left the temple, he went to secure his land he bought or whatever it was, then we met back at an official’s office to nullify it less than a week later.”

“I can’t take any more of this. Please tell me we’re done,” Luka sighed.

Kyllian opened his mouth to say something and Aedion groaned, head falling back onto the table with a slightly painful thump. “No more. And not from  _ you  _ of all people.” Kyllian shut his mouth, looking regretful.

“I was just going to make a joke of announcing I like men as though that were news, but now I won’t.”

“Well, I like women.”

Already sick of being surprised, it took Aedion several seconds to register that what Luka said was really only mundane fact, and one which they’d already known.

Heaving a sigh, he sat up with a wince of pain. “I’ve had enough of you all for one day. As your general I’m ordering you to give me some fucking peace and quiet while I heal.”

Kyllian’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“I know ways to shut you up better than anyone, Abbas, don’t try it.”

“I can bet gold I’m one of the only people to get you to have any manners. Who else can say they managed to get the infamously irreverent Aedion Ashryver to say  _ please.”  _

Aedion tipped his head back and laughed, even as Aleya buried her face in her hands. Luka, for his part, looked mortified. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The language I borrowed from was Maori, though technically the letter L doesn’t exist in their alphabet.
> 
> In general:  
• Luka’s culture is roughly based off Polynesian culture  
• Aleya is from Coastal regions of Terrassen, the cultural/geographic equivalent of Ireland/Scotland  
• Kyllian’s mother would likely be from somewhere in Sub-Saharan Africa


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place just before/during HoF and is is essentially a rough summary + some new stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter be a short one, lads
> 
> [it’s 2am I can’t be held responsible for what I say anymore]

The mood in the command tent was somber, to say the least. Scout reports brought news of stirrings in the south, from disturbances in the fickle politics of the kingdom to strange workings happening at Morath.

And now the King had summoned the Bane to Rifthold.

“You can’t go alone, Aedion. He called for the legion, not just you, and with everything that’s happening…”

For once, Luka’s sensibility went ignored by Aedion. He was right, of course. The stalemate between Adarlan and the rebels was ending, the great slumbering dragon finally cracking one eyelid open, and gods help them all when it woke fully. “These men have wives and children at home, I won’t bring them into a potential trap. I’ll make up some excuse about storms delaying us, which should buy a few weeks at least. Enough time for me to figure out what’s going on and send for you if it seems safe.”

“At least let one of us come with you,” Kyllian pleaded, but Aedion shook his head.

“I’ll answer the king’s summons alone. If it’s safe then there’s nothing to worry about and if it’s a trap, then it’s only me they can arrest. Assuming everything goes to shit, we’ll need as much help from the outside as we can get, which will include the Bane.”

Luka opened his mouth to argue when Aleya, silent until now, stepped in. “He’s right, you know, his presence alone will be least threatening to the King even if it displeases him, and if they start making arrests even the entire Bane won’t keep them from Aedion.”

“So either way, if it falls apart we’ve got Aedion’s head on a pike,” Luka summed up.

Aedion nodded grimly. “Seems to be the status quo around here.”

~

The day-old snow had developed a thin frozen crust over the top which crunched under Aedion’s boots, forest animals scattering at the sound.

His tent had felt too tight, too enclosed, and he needed the cold northern air in his lungs. The scent of pine was carried on the stiff breeze along with a hint of smoke from the camp, filling his chest familiarly. Aedion didn’t know where he was going, letting his feet carry him from the camp until he stood under a stand of tall pines, utterly alone, the silver moonlight filtering weakly through the branches above him. He tilted his face to the heavens and could almost see Deanna gazing back cooly.

Reaching for a low branch Aedion pulled himself up, settling down so his back rested against the trunk, one foot propped up, the other dangling into the air. He closed his eyes, letting the north wash over him as a voice, deep in the back of his mind, murmured that this may be the last time he breathed this air.

For several long minutes he stayed that way, rough bark digging into his back. When an eerie silence settled over the wood Aedion frowned, opening his eyes as alarm quickened his pulse. What would make an entire forest of creatures go quiet?

His breath left his lungs in a great whoosh and he had to steady himself to keep from toppling off his branch. A stag stood in the clearing, right at the center where the watery moonlight was strongest. It was nearly twice the size of any stag Aedion had ever seen and glowed with an inhuman silver, a small blue flame flickering between its two great antlers.

Aedion and the Lord of the North regarded each other, the stag’s eyes conveying some message that Aedion couldn’t quite grasp. Before he could wonder aloud what it meant, it was gone, disappearing in the space between one breath and the next. He blinked in shock, thinking it could have been a figment of his imagination were it not for the hoof prints in the snow.

It wasn’t until later that night that Aedion shot awake, panting, the stag’s inscrutable eyes still boring into him, that he understood its visit. It had been a goodbye and a thank you.

Whatever was to happen in Rifthold, it would end poorly; someway, somehow.

~

Aedion didn’t share this thought with the others before leaving. The sun was barely up when he pulled a pack over his shoulders and lead a horse from the stables. He hugged Luka first, then Aleya.

“Remember,” she laughed, green eyes shining, “if the King isn’t utterly sick of you, it’s a wasted visit.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Aedion chuckled, stooping to kiss her cheek before turning to Kyllian. His second pulled him into a tight embrace as Aedion asked, “you got any words of advice for me?”

“Don’t die. And never wear a yellow shirt, it clashes with your hair.”

With a mock salute Aedion swung his leg over his horse, settling into the saddle as she skittered nervously. On his way out of camp he waved to each man he passed, praying he was indeed saving their lives by keeping them here.

~

Foolishly, Aedion let himself fall into an easy rhythm as his weeks in Rifthold remained relatively uneventful. Meeting with northern lords and rebels while avoiding the Crown Prince was business as usual, the only hiccup being the King’s displeasure at the Bane’s “late” arrival. 

Until his world was turned upside down. With two words from the Captain of the Guard Aedion’s entire perspective changed.

“Aelin’s alive.” 

When he continued meeting with the captain and learned more, where she was, what she had been doing, plans years in the making snapped into place perfectly.

His queen, his cousin. He would get to see his cousin again. After the captain left Aedion had dropped to his knees and cried. Not out of sadness or pain, but out of hope.

And then the messenger at his door, bowing and saying, “The King requests your presence.” When Aedion got to the throne room and found the prince, his healer, and the Captain of the Guard waiting too, his stomach twisted. When the healer was forced to her knees, the sword resting above her neck, Aedion knew what he had to do.

When he threw his ring at the King’s feet and confessed his betrayals, he threw away any last chance of seeing Aelin again but he knew, deep in his heart, she’d be able to do it without him. She was with the Fae now, supposedly; there were powerful allies to be made there.

And so Aedion buried all his crushed dreams, the shining beacon of hope guttering out as the black ring bounced and rolled right to the foot of that dais.

At the wet _thud_ of Sorscha’s head hitting the marble, Aedion snarled, lunged, roaring and fighting like an animal. He earned a wound across his ribs for his efforts as four guards dragged him from the bloodied throne room.

Aedion knew he was being taken to the dungeons, howling and cursing as he fought to get free. He finally settled into a sullen, reluctant compliance, more out of pain than anything, when they rounded the corner into a familiar figure. A memory sparked in Aedion’s mind, of that tall, lean figure handing him the Sword of Orynth, leaning into his space and hissing horrible words.

_ I’d hurt someone close to you. Your second, perhaps? I hear he’s real pretty. Might be I’d give him to my men, see who wants a turn while you watch, helpless.  _

Now, Aedion had nothing to lose. Faster than anyone could track the movement, he pulled a knife from a guard’s thigh holster and cut the man’s throat. He fell in a spray of blood and Aedion broke free. He could have thrown the knife, killed the officer from where he stood, but he’d promised to flay this man alive. That wasn’t an option but Aedion would settle for the next best thing — killing him with his bare hands.

He made a desperate lung at the officer who stood too shocked to do anything. A guard’s mailed fist barely closed on the hem of Aedion’s shirt but the fabric tore and he was free, reaching forward with fury in his eyes. His hands gripped either side of his head, twisting. The horrific crack of the officer’s neck almost echoed in the corridor, his body falling like a puppet with its strings cut.

fell to his knees, bones barking in protest as they hit the flagstones. He was seized once again and more forcibly dragged along, but he no longer felt like putting up a fight, complacent enough to be dragged to the dungeons. He’d die down there, happily, if it meant his execution never happened, never baited Aelin out from wherever she hid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two or three chapters will be set within the HoF/early-QoS timeframe but will be new writing, not as much a summary as this chapter was. From there, since I don’t want to take SJM’s writing, I’ll drop the story. Then, of course, a final, happy, epilogue chapter to wrap this up. 
> 
> We’re probably looking at around four more chapters for this big guy. I’ve never written anything near this long so I’m winging it all, but I’m having a lot of fun.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to post this last night but then instead of writing I watched the first 2 Night at the Museum movies in a row. 10/10 experience.
> 
> Also, potential panic attack TW this chapter!

The scout was filthy, covered in mud from the road, hair tousled like he’d ridden nonstop. Perhaps he had.

“Commanders,” he said, bowing to Luka and Kyllian, adding, “Ma’am,” with a nod to Aleya.

Kyllian tried to keep his impatience from his tone. “What news do you have, Marek?”

The boy was trembling. “Sir, it’s Aedion, he- he’s been arrested. His execution is set for th- three weeks from yesterday.” He was stumbling over the horror in his words, continuing to speak, but Kyllian didn’t hear him over the roaring in his ears. The world tilted sickeningly around him.

_ Execution.  _

They had known this could happen, always, from the day they were appointed command of the Bane, but Kyllian,  _ all _ of them, had become adept at pushing that to the back of their minds.

“Also, sir… the Queen is coming. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius is alive.”

Kyllian barely had the sense left to dismiss the scout, saying, “spread the word amongst the men. I’ll talk to everyone in a moment.”

The scout nodded hurriedly and disappeared as quickly as he’d come.

He turned to see Luka had collapsed into one of the wooden chairs, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Aleya looked rooted to the spot, she’d barely blinked since the scout broke the news. Kyllian, for his part, felt panic rising in his chest, threatening to sweep everything away.

He tried to rationalize — if anyone could escape a castle in chains it would be Aedion — but even as he thought it, he knew he was deluding himself. Aedion was a key player in this revolution, a powerful figure, and the King would never allow his escape. Attempting it would only mean an earlier death.

And the Queen. Aedion’s cousin, heir to the throne of Terrassen, and, if what Aedion had said was true, one of the most magically gifted of the Galathynius line since Mala herself.

Kyllian’s stomach churned as he fought to stay on his feet. He was next in line to be general and these men needed a leader, not someone who was crippled by the first sign of trouble. Taking deep breaths to steady himself, he walked from the command tent with his head held high.

The men outside fell silent the moment he appeared. With three hundred eyes on him, expectant, he nearly turned right around until he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. Luka, offering silent support.

“I’m sure you have all heard by now — Aedion has been arrested and is set to be executed in three weeks. Before any of you ask, we will  _ not  _ be attempting a retrieval.” This announcement stirred surprise amongst the men. “It would be a far too dangerous endeavor that could only end in death and yet more arrests.”

The words pained him to say, but Aedion had known before leaving for Rifthold that this time, more than any, was dangerous. Kyllian could imagine his reaction if they tried to plan a rescue;  _ I’m not some damsel to be saved and I won’t lose men over one little life.  _

“The king now knows about us, what we do and we have done. We will no longer operate under the pretense of following the king’s orders, we go where we’re needed and where Darrow tells us to.”

This earned a few quiet cheers.

“With secrecy no longer an option, we begin building ranks and recruiting efforts will double — despite this we remain a legion of soldiers, not a slapped-together group of farmers' sons; any recruits will be trained with the same intensity you all suffered. We’re done sneaking around. The tables have turned and the Queen is coming… this is war.”

Amid the roars of the men Kyllian and Luka returned to the command tent. Aleya had taken one of the chairs in their absence as though her legs could no longer support her.

Kyllian knew the feeling.

“That was a pretty speech, Abbas.” Aleya’s words washed over him, barely registering. He tilted his head back, squeezing his eyes shut as the control he’d maintained for the men fell apart.

Not only had he been handed primary command of a legion now hunted by a king’s army, he had just been told his oldest, dearest friend was set to be killed in weeks. Even Aleya, through the numb haze that had settled over her, noticed something was wrong as Kyllian’s chest heaved for air.

He dropped to his knees, the tent swimming around him, Aleya’s voice muffled as though underwater. “Kyllian. Hey, Kyllian!” She said something to Luka that he couldn’t hear, too distracted by the feeling of his closing lungs.

Then a shock of red hair appeared in his vision as she crouched, on level with him, and said something else. It took a minute for his addled brain to catch up to her words, but once it did he held out his hand as she’d ordered. She grasped it tight, hand slender and pale next to his but with shocking strength in her grip. “Can you breathe with me as I count?”

She was taking slow, measured inhales and exhales, counting aloud, but Kyllian couldn’t make his lungs cooperate. As he struggled to breath normally he grew frustrated, unable to control the one thing he should have had mastery over. Tears leaked from his eyes, only serving to make him more frustrated, more anxious. Feeling Aleya’s thumb brushing his palm, up and down, breathing with the movement, he reigned in his panic. As soon as he could breathe he choked out an apology.

Some general he was.

“If I had any real job here, I’d be panicking too.” Aleya’s voice sounded slightly strangled. “Knowing none of this is truly on me is the one thing keeping me sane right now.”

Luka’s dark hair was free of its long braid, hanging half in front of his face as though he was trying to hide. “If I hit the ground, just leave me there for a little while. I’ll wake up eventually.”

A beat of silence followed this until Kyllian, almost against his will, snorted in amusement. The three of them dissolved into hysterical laughter. Nothing was funny, but laughing was better than the alternative. He couldn’t even tell if his tears were from laughter or pain.

“At least the men received your announcements well,” Luka said, once their laughter faded.

“They’ve been doing this long enough that they’re sick of following the king’s orders. Some freedom will do them good.”

“Even if that freedom comes at the price of their safety?”

“Even then.” Kyllian nodded grimly.

~

The infection was starting to take its toll on Aedion’s body. He no longer had the strength to pace, constantly pulling at the chains that bound him to the wall, settling into a reluctant, listless silence. Instead, he’d taken to focusing his attention on one chain link, scraping and pressing and bending until it looked weakened enough to break. His wound was a fallback, certainly, but he didn’t want to rely on infection to kill him when a scared guard’s pike would do just as well.

Voices in the hallway outside his cell caught his attention, speaking unnaturally loud.

“Did you hear the king’s latest orders? He’s sending a few hundred men up north to hunt that damn legion down. Kill them all, arrest and execute the officers, he said.” Aedion’s heart leapt into his throat.

He realized they’d spoken so loud for his benefit when one guard walked up to his bars, sneering. “Hear that, you mongrel? Your little friends are dead men.”

Summoning all the power in his weakened body, Aedion lunged. The weakened link snapped and his right arm came free, his bound left arm stopping his movement forward. That didn’t matter, he gained enough ground to grab the guard’s collar through the bars. He pulled him forward into the iron hard enough that the bars crushed his nose. He struggled, trying to break free, but Aedion held as tight as his wrecked body allowed. He spat on the guard, pulling him into the bars harder and harder, roaring his wordless rage.

To his disappointment the other guards didn’t stab him through the bars, only wrenched their friend free. Aedion continued to pull against his bonds, far too dangerous to risk entering the cell to fix the chain. The manacles wore at his skin, bleeding, as his battered body tested the metal to its limits.

Finally men swarmed into the hallway and they unlocked his cell door. Four of them surged in, two going for his freed right hand. He managed to get his hand in one man’s hair, bringing his head into the wall with a crack. Blood covered the stone as the man fell but another took his place immediately. As a new chain was attached from his shackles to the wall, Aedion bared his teeth in a feral smile. “I’ve been meaning to redecorate,” he hissed, waving with his fingers at the blood, but the guards backed away without saying anything, one of them pulling the dead guard by his feet.

As soon as the door slammed shut, guards retreating, Aedion slumped to the ground exhausted. 

Broken chains and a dead guard and they still hadn’t killed him. He may have to rely on infection after all. 


	18. Eleventh Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost 3.5k words...why?
> 
> I actually titled the chapter, so you know if that happens you rlly gotta listen up.

The initial shock of Aedion’s arrest had had time to wear off over the past several days. Now, Kyllian, Aleya and Luka had settled into a routine of working and training, keeping their minds and bodies busy enough that there was no time to grieve. The Bane had work to accomplish, plans too long in motion to be derailed by the arrest of a general. War was coming, whether they wanted it or not.

It was only when Kyllian collapsed onto his bedroll at night that the grief caught up to him, waves of anguish that kept sleep at bay despite the exhaustion weighing down his body. Between worries about his men, worries about the future of his legion, and the empty space at his side Aedion used to occupy, Kyllian had hardly slept in days.

He rolled over onto his other side and shot up in alarm at the figure standing just inside his tent. “Luka?” Even as he said it he knew he was wrong, whoever it was had half a head of height on his second.

The laugh Kyllian got in return was all too familiar. “You don’t recognize me? It’s been all of a week since I left.”

Shutting his eyes against Aedion’s silhouette, Kyllian flipped back over to face away from him. “Bastard,” he murmured, “Not even dead and he’s already haunting me.” Even so, he peeked back around a moment later. Nobody was there, as expected.

_ I’m not going crazy. I’m not going crazy. I just need sleep. I’m not going crazy. _

This repeated mantra helped soothe him, however shallow the words, until he slipped into an uneasy sleep where his unconscious mind did little to help his frayed nerves.

The thick red carpet of the king’s throne room was gone, replaced instead with a spreading pool of blood. The king was lounging on the throne, black ring catching the light as he tapped his fingers impatiently against the metal arm.

“You knew what would happen to these rebels and yet you still joined them. You knew what would happen to your general and yet you still befriended him, fell in love, even. Now look at what you’ve done.”

Kyllian knew what he would see, glancing down despite his reluctance. The headless body on the floor was Aedion’s — the slowly spreading blood was also his. Next to his head, shining despite the dark red blood coating it, was Kyllian’s blade.

_ No. _

“You did this, General.”

Kyllian never knew what his response would have been, pulled from his dream by a familiar voice repeating his name, interspersed with several ‘sirs.’

He was on his feet in an instant and the boy scrambled backwards, nearly falling; it was the same scout who had brought the news of Aedion’s arrest.

His eyes were wide, tips of his ears burning red, and Kyllian was reminded of his shirtless state. Pulling one over his head quickly to spare the boy embarrassment, he asked him what news he brought. If he was being woken in the middle of the night, it was certainly not good. 

“Sir, the king has sent a legion. By my best count, near five hundred men headed straight for us, only a few leagues away.”

“Aren't you the bearer of bad news, recently?” Kyllian snorted, trying to reign in his fear with humor.

Five hundred men to the Bane’s three hundred. Holy gods. This was intended to be an extermination.

“Sorry sir, I don’t- I didn’t-” Marek was stammering again, cheeks still red.

“I didn’t mean anything by that,” Kyllian said, ducking his head to look him in the eyes. “Do you fear me?”

“No, sir. Well, I suppose a little bit sir.”

Kyllian shook his head, amused. “Don’t bother with the ‘sirs.’ Now, can you bring Luka to me and go rouse the men? I want them armored and ready to fight within the hour, but all possessions stay here. We’re not moving camp.”

With another “yessir” Marek ducked out of his tent.

Kyllian was dressed and almost fully armored by the time Luka barreled into his tent, breathing hard. “Five hundred men?”

Kyllian nodded, grim. “I want to meet them in the valley. We have a front line set up to match their initial advance, but once the fighting starts and the men have pushed into the bowl of the valley, the rest of our forces come from the trees, from the sides and the back. They’ll be surrounded and fighting uphill on the north and south sides.”

“Do you have a plan for the flanks?”

Kyllian shook his head and Luka clapped a hand to his shoulder. “Leave that to me then, brother. The surprise should be the larger part of our forces, so I’ll take two hundred men if you think you can hold line with only a hundred.”

The odds were not good, but a hundred would give Kyllian just enough men to break up Adarlan’s initial charge before Luka’s men came in. “I’ll be okay. Gather the men you think best, and go soon. Having everyone fully settled by the time Adarlan’s soldiers arrive is the only way we have the element of surprise.” Other words hung unspoken in the air.  _ The only way we stand a chance. _

Luka looked solemn as he nodded. Kyllian stepped closer, let their foreheads rest against each other for a moment before pulling back. “This is the eleventh hour, it seems,” Luka murmured.

Kyllian gently tugged Luka’s long black braid, smiling. “I’ll see you after the battle.”

Luka returned the smile but it wasn’t genuine — it said  _ I’ll agree for your benefit but you’re full of shit.  _

Kyllian knew he was full of shit, too. Eleventh hour, indeed. 

~

Dawn had nearly broken by the time Aleya made her way to Kyllian’s tent. The front line was ready to move out soon and he was fully armored, twin  _ dao  _ blades strapped across his back.

Aleya gestured to his bare arms with a sarcastic snort. “It’s not  _ that  _ warm out, Abbas.”

He just shrugged. “Too much armor slows me down.”

Which was a fair point. She’d seen Kyllian fight and what truly set him apart was an almost inhuman speed and grace. 

Aleya was relatively lightly armored herself, but vambraces still protected her forearms, greaves on her shins, and a mail shirt to keep her organs inside her body. She rather preferred them there. 

“I assume Luka said goodbye before he left?”

She frowned slightly, let her fingers brush her cheek where he’d pressed a gentle kiss. “Let’s hope it wasn’t a goodbye.”

“If any of us survive this, it’s him. I wouldn’t get in the way of that longsword for a hundred golden dragons.”

“My money would be on you, Kyllian, if only you’d wear more armor than a breastplate and greaves.”

His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as he drew one of his swords, testing the edge against his thumb. “If I’m fast enough to avoid being hit I don’t need armor at all. Maybe I’ll jump in stark naked and see what Adarlan’s men do then.”

“You’d scare them all the way back to Rifthold,” Aleya chuckled.

“Perhaps. You know I love you, right?”

She blinked at the sudden change of subject, but when she glanced at Kyllian she saw only naked honesty in his eyes. “I love you too.”

A mischievous smile spread across his face then, crooked and edged with something dangerous. “Let’s go kick some ass.”

By the time Kyllian and his men were in place, situated just above the valley floor facing south, the day had fully broken. They didn’t have to wait long, Adarlan’s men cresting the ridge across from them only minutes later. They didn’t pause, streaming down into the valley towards the Bane like a river overflowing its banks. The only blessing was that they had no mounted men, the thin mountain paths too dangerous for heavy, armored horses.

As five hundred men ran full tilt towards them, Kyllian saw Aleya touch the dagger at her thigh. It was the one Aedion had given her all those years ago, simple steel and leather.

Unsheathing the twin blades from his back Kyllian braced himself and as the very first man arrived, close enough that Kyllian could see the detailing on his armor, he launched himself forward. “For Aedion,” he hissed as his sword slipped between plates of armor into soft flesh.

Another kill and enough time had passed that he called out, “sound the signal!” The order was repeated by the men until the hunting horn blew thrice and Luka’s men came rushing from the woods. They now had the Adarlanian soldiers surrounded and fighting uphill, but their ranks were spread thin trying to contain the much larger force. If they broke through at any point, the Bane’s strategic placement would be for nothing.

The whirlwind of battle surrounded him. Kyllian was aware of little but the next man in front of him, the next man whose blood would paint his swords.

Blood was spattered on his face and he was forced to hold his  _ dao  _ tighter over the wetness on his hands, but so far none of it was his. Small mercies.

~

Aleya caught sight of Kyllian for the first time since the initial charge almost an hour later. She could see him cutting his way through men like stalks of wheat, long braids flying behind him as he ducked and whirled and slashed.

Instinct told her to  _ move  _ and she spun to meet a soldier’s blade with her own, surprise flickering across his face. “A woman,” he snarled, and she laughed.

“Yeah, a woman.” She reared back, connecting her foot with his abdomen in a vicious kick. He staggered backwards from the force of the blow and she opened his throat a moment later.

~

Luka hit the ground hard enough that his ears rang. The soldier over him raised his sword for a blow that would never come; before he could bring it down he went stiff and toppled over.

Dazed, Luka scrambled out from under his body to see a knife between his shoulder blades. He looked around for his savior and found Aleya, who gave him a small salute and a smile. He returned the salute as she spun back into motion.

He’d long since lost his longsword in the chaos of battle, but he grabbed a double-edged axe from a dead man near him. Hefting the weapon, he turned, searching for another target.

~

Fever dreams were wracking Aedion’s mind as infection took his body. Tonight, Hellas was laughing at him from the corner of his cell.

The god’s skin was the color of dark ash, bright amber eyes reflecting the fires of his realm, hair darker than ink spilling over his shoulders. “You’ve always known you’d come to my lands when you died, Ashryver.”

Aedion stubbornly ignored him, setting his jaw.

“There was no chance of a peaceful afterlife for you, but your friends… that could have been them. Alas, they die in battle as we speak, murdered on a muddy field by the king’s men. Those kinds of souls come to me, not Silba.” His laugh was horrible, like the grating of stone on stone. “Death will not be a kindness, little wolf.”

His words echoed in Aedion’s head as he jolted awake, biting his tongue to keep from screaming.

~

When the hunting horn signaled Adarlan’s retreat, Kyllian couldn’t believe it. The Bane had prevailed over a force nearly twice their size, but at what cost?

The field was littered with dead, rebels and king’s men alike. Kyllian ran, feet slipping in mud and blood as he searched the faces of the dead. Too many of them he had known well, and yet some he barely recognized. These men had died for him and he hadn’t known their names. His head whipped around, searching for Luka’s broad-shouldered figure, for Aleya’s fiery hair, for any sign of his friends. His ribs ached, his blood warm and sticky under his armor, but he ignored the pain.

He almost missed her, kneeling in the mud, her shoulders slumped, so covered in filth she blended into the ground. There was one heart-stopping moment of dread, thinking she was injured or dead, but when he called out her name she turned. Kyllian’s relief at this soured the moment he saw what she kneeled next to.  _ Who _ she kneeled next to.

He’d been opened from navel to collarbone, the power behind the blow rending armor as it tore at him. Those dark eyes stared up at the sky, unseeing, his hair come loose from its braid and spilled like ink around his head. 

Kyllian was no stranger to gruesome injuries but he still had to fight to keep the contents of his stomach down. The high of battle was wearing off, leaving his limbs leaden, and he didn’t have enough in him to feel guilty or angry or sorrowful. Only empty.

He laid a hand on Aleya’s shoulder. “Come. We’ll burn the dead later.”

“It’s not  _ the dead,  _ Kyllian, it’s Luka.” Her voice broke on his name.

Kyllian was trying his best to compartmentalize, thinking about the mutilated body in front of him as his friend wasn’t something he could handle at the moment. “Trust me, Aleya, I know. But you need to take care of any injuries before infection sets in, so  _ come with me.” _

She looked up at him, tear tracks in the grime on her face, and shook her head. “A lifetime at war has ruined you. You don’t grieve anymore.”

Her words were a slap to the face. He crouched so he was on level with her and hissed,“I’m a general, I have to lead these men. I’m not  _ allowed  _ to grieve, not allowed to show how much all of this  _ fucking hurts. _ I’ve barely slept in days and Aedion’s fucking haunting me already and I just lead a hundred and fifty men to their deaths but this is my gods damned job. Soon, I’ll have to go up in front of the surviving men and tell them it can only get worse from here.

“So if I seem like a cold, hard bastard it’s because a lifetime of rape, death, war, and pain  _ forces _ you to be one.”

Fresh tears spilled from Aleya’s eyes as she buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, so quiet Kyllian barely heard her. “I didn’t really even mean that.”

“Yes, you did,” Kyllian replied, blunt as ever, “but that’s okay. Do you need help standing?”

She struggled to her feet in answer, swaying slightly. She frowned at the sight of him, most of his weight supported on one leg, a hand to the wound in his ribs. “ _ You _ look like you need help standing.” He tried to argue but she just pulled one of his arms over her shoulders, taking some of his weight as they hobbled back to camp.

Back in his tent, Kyllian reached to unclasp his armor and winced at the pull on his ribs, Aleya’s eyes flicking over to him in concern. She reached for the leather straps herself, saying, “I’ll help you, hold still.”

He moved to step away but she held on, tipping her head back to look in his eyes. “Please let me help you?”

There was an offer in her eyes, one Kyllian almost didn’t want to accept — an offer of support. It was too easy to push people away, especially considering what happened to everyone near him, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Aleya seemed to see the thoughts behind his eyes. “You don’t have to do this alone, not by a long shot.”

_ Thank you,  _ he wanted to say, but his throat felt tight; instead, he nodded.

She helped him out of his armor and promptly scowled at the sight of his side, his shirt soaked in blood. “What the hell did you do to yourself?”

Kyllian shrugged, then winced. “That was from a sword. Or maybe a mace, I think. I haven’t had time to look at it.”

“A  _ mace? _ You  _ think?  _ Okay, forget it, let me see.” She lifted the hem of his shirt, exposing the wound for the first time. It wasn’t as bad as Kyllian had thought, just a long slice across his ribs. “Hmm. You got a needle?”

After waving the needle he’d procured through a candle a few times she threaded it, turning back to Kyllian with a grimace. “Ready?”

He nodded and clenched his jaw, anticipating the pain. He’d been stitched up more times than he could count, and each time was just as bad as the last.

Cutting the thread after the last stitch, Aleya sat back to admire her handiwork. Her eyes flicked over the other scars on his torso, white lines criss-crossing over dark skin, dozens of scars of all sizes. Inevitably, her eyes were dragged up to the raised white scar on his neck, the most brutal of them all. Aedion and Byrne were the only two who knew the story of that scar, but he could see the question forming on Aleya’s lips.

Before she could ask he gestured towards her. “You got any injuries?”

“Miraculously, nothing beyond some bruises and scrapes.”

Kyllian staggered to his feet, pulling on a clean shirt. “Those should still be cleaned.”

“I think I can handle that,” she scoffed, but allowed him to pull her back to a standing position. Shedding her armor she left it in a pile where she stood and walked with Kyllian from the tent. He made his rounds of the camp, checking on the injured and offering condolences while she slipped off, disappearing somewhere.

After some time he made his way to the center of camp, the men grouping together as he addressed them.

“This is the reality of our situation now — we are at war. I understand it’s far from what it was when many of you enlisted, and if any man wants to walk, he can. I won’t stop anybody, and you can leave without dishonor.”

“Bullshit!” a voice called out from the crowd. “I ain’t going anywhere!”

A chorus of agreements met this statement. Someone else shouted, “You’re stuck with us, Abbas!”

A third voice added, “You’ve been handed Ashryver’s job but you’re doing a damn fine job of it. You got my loyalty same as him.”

Kyllian couldn’t keep the small smile from his face at their dedication. “Alright, then. With that settled, I have some news.” He grew somber, and from the way the crowd shuffled around, they understood it was bad news. “My second in command, Luka Faron, was killed today.”

At his words the men all dropped to one knee, right arm across their chests, hands curled into fists, heads bowed — a warrior’s salute. Kyllian fought to keep his composure as he followed their lead, kneeling too. After a moment he rose and the men copied. 

“This leaves two vacant positions in leadership,” he continued. “I will choose the men and summon them to my tent tonight. One last thing… I want to thank you all for the sacrifices you’ve made. You lost friends, brothers, fathers, and still you stand behind me. Now go, collect the dead, help the injured.”

With those final words he dismissed his men.

~

The smoke from the funeral pyres was still rising into the air hours later, the smell burned into Kyllian’s nose, as he lay in bed. Sleep continued to evade him.

“How did the meeting with the new officers go?”

Kyllian jumped. “Fuck’s sake, Aleya. You’re quiet.”

“Or you’re just distracted.”

“What are you doing here?”

She shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep either.”

He sat up and patted the space on the bedroll next to him. She obliged, settling down with a sigh. Several minutes of silence persisted before Aleya spoke. “You know what he said to me right before he left? He told me he didn’t want to die without seeing his home, his islands, one last time. He asked if that made him a coward.”

The dam Kyllian had so carefully constructed crumbled, just like that. Luka, who was kinder and gentler than him, whose dark eyes could read a person in a second, whose smile came easy and spread to those around him like wildfire. Dragged into this war far from home and killed on foreign land before his twenty-ninth birthday. Kyllian could feel tears on his cheeks.

“I told him it made him human,” was all Aleya said, voice trembling, before she turned and buried her face in Kyllian’s side. He reached an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She drifted off eventually, still tucked against him.

“Don’t you leave me too,” he murmured into her hair, but she slept on, not even stirring at his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kyllian, shirtless:  
Marek: big boobs? Chile, anyways so
> 
> Okay but on a more serious note, I’m rlly sorry. I promise we will only go up from here.
> 
> Were Luka and Aleya together? That’s for me to not actually know and you to interpret as you wish.  
Also, Kyllian and Aleya’s relationship seemed kind of shippy this chapter (by accident) but Kyllian remains A Raging Homosexual so that won’t happen.


	19. Chapter 19

Kyllian was in the middle of a conversation with Aris, the Bane’s armorsmith, when the man’s eyes widened in alarm at something behind him. Kyllian just had time to register the sound of fast-moving hoofbeats behind him and to turn, bracing himself, when a rider stopped before him, halting the horse so suddenly it reared back onto its hind legs. When the horse settled he finally got a glimpse of the rider — Aleya. She swung down off her mount with an apologetic pat to its shoulder, grinning so wide her cheeks dimpled.

Kyllian scoffed, “What, are you trying to trample m-”

He was stopped mid-sentence as Aleya planted a kiss right on his mouth, still smiling wide. He blinked in confusion as Aris, behind him, did a poor job of stifling his laughter. “I’m flattered, really, but I’m afraid I don’t swing that way.”

Aleya laughed. “I am well aware, thank you. I’ve just got good news.” She paused for dramatic effect and Kyllian interrupted her with a raised brow.

“That’s how you deliver all your messages of good tidings?”

The scowl she directed at him felt halfhearted. “Shut the fuck up, Abbas. Aedion’s alive.”

Kyllian’s stomach dropped to somewhere in his feet. “What?” he asked, so quietly he thought she didn’t hear him at first.

“He’s alive,” she repeated.

“ _ Alive _ like they delayed his execution another day or…” Kyllian trailed off, not daring to hope.

“No,  _ alive _ like escaped. The gods-damned queen of Terrassen rescued him.”

“Holy fuck,” Aris breathed from behind them. Kyllian had nearly forgotten he was there. Aris took a long stride forward, wrapping Aleya up in his arms and spinning her. She protested loudly, laughing the whole time. When he took a step towards Kyllian the general held up his hands, shaking his head. 

“You’re not picking me up.”

“I couldn’t if I tried,” Aris chuckled, pulling Kyllian into a rib-breaking hug. Judging by the metalworker’s huge shoulders he probably could, but Kyllian wasn’t going to be the one to tell him that.

He returned Aris’ embrace as much to hold his own weight up as anything else; his legs were weak with a giddy relief. He finally pulled back from Aris who gave him an amused look. “What, I don’t get a kiss, too?” he teased.

“Hey, ask her,” Kyllian snorted, gesturing to Aleya, whose face flamed red as her hair.

“Let’s never talk about that again.”

~

The men received the news of Aedion’s escape with more enthusiasm than Kyllian could have thought possible.

“I am afraid, however, that you’ve got to put up with me for a little while longer,” Kyllian added. “Aedion is staying with his queen while she does gods-know-what in the south.”

“I hear she’s got some Fae with her now,” someone called out. This started a rush of rumors, each of them different, each more ridiculous than the last.

Kyllian laughed, motioning for quiet. “I’ve only told you what I know for sure, barring all rumors. If I receive more word, you’ll be the first to know.” He stepped down from the tree stump that had served as a temporary platform and turned to address Isak, his newly-appointed third. “That news should keep them entertained for a day or two.”

“I expect the rumors will be running wild.”

“By the time he comes back he’ll be more of a living legend than he already was,” Kyllian laughed. The older man shrugged.

“If what I know of him is true, he’d probably enjoy that.”

Aedion’s swaggering arrogance was often an act, but he certainly had a cocky side to him and Kyllian would bet Isak was right. Aedion would be amused to no end by half the things Kyllian had heard just a minute ago.

Kyllian was hunched over a table, leaning close to see the papers in the flickering lantern light, when someone cleared their throat. He glanced up to see Aris in the entrance, leaning against a tent pole with something in his hand. Kyllian motioned him inside.

The blacksmith placed the object he held on the table. “It’s a letter, a posted messenger just brought it from Rifthold. He tried to give it to Isak to bring to you, but a few of the men insisted I bring it.” He shrugged at Kyllian’s confused glance.

The posted messengers were used for the most secret of correspondence. The Bane had their own men, scouts, posted in certain locations at specified times. If someone had a message to deliver they could find the man, give them their letter directly, and the man would leave immediately to bring the letter to its recipient. Only members of the Bane knew of this system, even Darrow had no clue. If a letter had come through this system from Rifthold…

Aris had turned and was halfway out the tent before he turned back. “Sir.”

Kyllian frowned slightly, looking up. “Just Kyllian is fine. Or Abbas.”

“Kyllian, then. If you don’t mind my asking, what was Aedion to you? You were together, weren’t you?”

“Yes, we were.”

Aris pulled his bottom lip into his mouth in thought. “So when he was captured…” he trailed off but Kyllian interjected before he could continue.

“Not then, no. We ended our romantic relationship around two years ago. Why?”

Aris didn’t answer for a long moment but Kyllian just leaned back in his chair, propped his boots on the table, and waited.

“When we all thought he was to be killed  _ you _ probably felt it the hardest, you were closest with him out of all of us.”

Kyllian made a noncommittal noise in response.

“How the hell did you step up and take his place? How did you keep going?” Aris’ dark eyes caught the lantern light as he tilted his head in Kyllian’s direction. The general, for his part, just shrugged.

“I’m not sure I know how to do anything else.”

In truth, the conversation unnerved him. He’d never talked about that brief, horrible mourning period with anyone except Aleya and Luka, and only they had seen his weakness — the rest of the men knew only a unified front, the strong-willed officer ready to take over for his fallen brother. Meanwhile Aris picked apart his armor and, astoundingly quickly, had found the man underneath.

“How long have you been here?” Kyllian inquired suddenly. 

“Just over a month. I arrived about a week before the news of Aedion’s capture.”

“So you had a chance to meet him.”

“Briefly,” Aris agreed, “but from what I saw he’s a good man. Do you still love him?”

The question threw Kyllian. For weeks after they ended things he  _ had _ still loved him, but those feelings were long lost to time. “Like a brother,” he replied. “Are you always this nosy with your commanding officers?”

Aris just smiled slightly and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe. I’ll leave you to your letter, General.”

Once he was gone Kyllian turned back to the letter. It bore no address, it didn’t need one with the direct delivery system, but he recognized the elegant handwriting in an instant. He could remember one day when he, Aleya, and Luka had all made fun of Aedion for his writing — it was far neater and nicer than anyone would expect out of a man like him, mostly due to his royal upbringing. 

Scanning the letter, Kyllian could almost hear the wry tone Aedion had written it in, that small, one-sided smile slipping up his face.

[K,

I’d guess the news of my escape reached you before this letter did. If not, this will be quite the surprise.

I’m going to stay with my cousin dearest for a while, we’ve got work to do down south, but I’ll be back, don’t doubt that for a second. I trust you and Luka to lead these men while I’m gone, there’s no question in my mind that you’re both more capable than me, not to mention our ‘lieutenant.’

From the little news I’ve gotten, you’ve done well. When they told me they were sending a legion of five hundred after the Bane I was fucking terrified, but holy gods did you manage to turn that to your favor.

I write to say that, due to the high-stakes people I now find myself with, I can’t afford to tell anyone where I’m going or where I’ll be. I’ll send letters through the posted messengers when I can, keeping in contact as this war gets messier and messier, but I don’t expect a reply.

See you soon,

A.A.]

A tiny smiley face scrawled at the bottom of the letter laughed up at him.

An ache settled in Kyllian’s chest at the mention of Luka’s name, but he carefully folded the letter, placing it between the pages of a book for safekeeping. It was well past midnight and he didn’t want to wake Aleya but he’d show her the letter in the morning, she would enjoy seeing something of Aedion’s, some little proof that their friend was alive and well.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody:  
Me, writing unnecessary gay sexual tension: hehehe
> 
> Also ik Aris is usually a girl’s name, but it also can be a guys name, it’s just rarer


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one :(( Just a crack-y epilogue that I accidentally made 4.5k words, whoops

Aedion wasn’t entirely sure how many people Aelin had invited, but she had initially ignored his pleas for a “small celebration.”

“My cousin’s getting married,” she had only laughed, “to my best friend, no less.”

When Lysandra joined the argument, also pleading “nothing extravagant, for Mala’s sake,” Aelin had relented.

And so the guest list was kept small. The cadre, of course, gathered from the corners of the world — Lorcan and Elide came north from Perranth while Fenrys and Vaughan were summoned from gods-know-where. Kyllian and Aleya left the Bane for a few days, and Byrne was dragged from his position in Rifthold to attend. Even Dorian had managed a little time to escape his duties as king for the wedding. An invitation had been extended to Manon but the witch queen brusquely, if politely, declined — Aedion wasn’t offended. Though he could respect her strength and the sacrifices she’d made in the war, she had always rubbed him the wrong way.

Lysandra was looking over Manon’s letter of refusal with an amused smile. “You think if we told her that her little “princeling” was coming she’d reconsider?”

“I said it before and I’ll say it again, I’m not touching  _ that  _ issue with a ten foot pole.”

Lysandra’s laugh was cut off by the door to their rooms banging open with excessive force. Aelin stood in the doorway, arms crossed. “What? You two think you can shirk wedding tradition?” Lysandra sent a puzzled glance at Aedion but he was just as mystified.

“The bride and groom are forbidden from seeing each other for a full day before the wedding ceremony. Lysandra, you’re coming with me,” she ordered, muttering something about “heathens” under her breath.

Aedion made a noise of protest as Lysandra was about to be pulled from the room. “We were going to spend time with Evangeline together!”

Aelin’s expression softened at that, but she didn’t relent. “You’ll have time to spend as a happy little family after the wedding. Besides, that girl has a castle full of people who adore her, she has no lack of love.” Aedion only received an apologetic glance from Lys as she trailed Aelin from the room and just like that, he was alone.

Making his way to the gardens he found Evangeline with Fleetfoot, both lounging in the shade, the hound’s tongue hanging out around a stick. Evangeline perked up slightly when she saw him. “Aedion! Where’s Lysandra?”

He laughed. “My horrible cousin’s taken her. I’ve been banned from seeing Lys until the wedding.”

Evangeline’s grey eyes glittered with amusement as he helped her up from the ground, Fleetfoot scrambling up too, happy to come wherever her people went. They walked hand in hand through the gardens chatting about whatever came to mind, occasionally throwing the stick for Fleetfoot to bound after.

Caught up in conversation, Aedion was preoccupied enough that he rounded a corner and nearly walked right into a tall figure.

“Whoah, there,” a familiar voice said and Aedion blinked in surprise. A crooked grin spread across a handsome face, dark-gold eyes crinkling at the corners.

Aedion pulled Kyllian into a tight hug, returned with rib-crushing force. “You couldn’t be bothered to tell me you’d arrived?”

After a moment Kyllian extracted himself from the embrace with a chuckle. “We just got here an hour or so ago. Aleya took the watch last night so she’s asleep right now.” It was then that Aedion noticed the man standing just off to the side. He looked vaguely familiar, his face the barest echo of memory in Aedion’s mind. Aedion held out a hand to shake and introduced himself.

“Well met, general, but I’m afraid I already knew who you are” the stranger chuckled. He stood half a head below Kyllian, though his shoulders were broader than Kyllian’s lithe form and his hands were calloused and strong enough to suggest he was no stranger to hard work. His handsome face was marred only by a slightly crooked nose, as though it’d been broken, and deep brown eyes held the same perpetual amusement as Aedion’s former second.

At Aedion’s confused look he added, “I’m the Bane’s blacksmith. Aris Morain, at your service.” That explained why he seemed familiar, he and Aedion had briefly crossed paths during the war but he’d joined late, just before Aedion’s capture. 

“He’s my, ah… ‘plus one,’ as the invitation said,” Kyllian added. Aris looked like he was trying to hide a smile.

Aedion’s eyes flicked between the two men, assessing, before he nodded. “Sure. In case you haven’t met her yet, Lysandra is somewhere here. She’s the woman about to be my legally-bound ‘plus one.’”

Aris lost the battle with his amusement and doubled over in laughter while Kyllian just heaved a sigh. “Can’t hide anything from you, huh? Who’s this?” he asked, gesturing at Evangeline.

“I’m his daughter,” she answered for Aedion, evidently proud of being able to say it. Kyllian’s brows flicked upwards and Aedion could see the gears spinning in his head, calculating how old Aedion would have had to be.

“Her name’s Evangeline,” Aedion laughed, interrupting Kyllian’s train of thought. “And she was Lysandra’s ward for years before the war.”

“Ah, okay. I was just trying to figure out what woman you’d have cheated on me with to have this child.”

“Kyllian!” Aris admonished as Evangeline’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

“She’s thirteen, Kyllian,” Aedion said. The other words went unspoken — Aedion would have been thirteen years old when she was born.

“Well,” Kyllian recovered, “I’m enchanted to meet you, Lady Evangeline.”

She smiled wide. “And you, commander.”

With that Aedion and Evangeline continued their walk. Barely a minute later — she must have waited until they were  _ just _ out of earshot — she turned to Aedion and asked, “What did he mean by “what woman you’d have cheated on me with?”

Aedion resisted the urge to curse. Of course that’s the part of the conversation she’d latch onto.

“And ‘plus one?’”

Perfect. That too.

“Well the wedding invitations allow for each person to bring one other with them, so he chose Aris. I think ‘plus one’ was his more tactful way of introducing Aris as his partner. As for the other thing… Kyllian and I were together from when I was seventeen until around twenty-two years old. Depending on how old you were, you could have been born sometime during that time, and if you were my biological child…” Aedion trailed off, letting the sentence hang. 

“Together?” Evangeline asked; an open-ended question.

“Together romantically. The way Lys and I are now.”

Evangeline’s eyes widened and she turned to stare at him. “You like men? Does Lysandra know?”

“Yes, she does. It doesn’t mean I love her any less, though.”

“Of course not,” the girl said, solemn. “Do you think-”

Aedion could hear worry in her tone, and he stopped walking so he could crouch down on level with her. A lock of hair had fallen from her braid and he took the chance to tuck it behind her ear. “What is it?”

“Do you think you and Lysandra will have your own kids someday?”

She was worried about being replaced, as though the Evangeline-shaped hole she’d carved out of his heart could be filled with anyone else.

“Ev, don’t you ever worry about that. Lys and I may have more children someday but they’ll be your siblings, not your replacement. You will always be our first daughter, even if you carry none of our blood in your veins. We love you, both of us, and I’m honored to call myself your father.”

She nodded, serious. “I’d get to take care of them? My siblings?”

Aedion stood, nodding. “Of course, I know you’d be a great older sister.” He tugged her braid gently. “Come, I want you to meet another friend of mine.”

Trotting after him on much shorter legs, she asked, “How come you don’t talk about your parents? Wasn’t your father the Lion of Doranelle?”

He smiled slightly, unable to keep a flicker of sadness off his face. “That’s a story for another day.”

~

After taking Ev to meet Aleya (the girl was instantly enamored with her, because what’s not to like about a tough woman in armor) Aedion dropped her off with Lysandra and Aelin.

He headed back to his room and was alone for barely a minute when someone knocked on his door. Opening it, he found Kyllian in his doorway holding a small wooden box fastened with tarnished silver clasps. He glanced at the box with some confusion but Kyllian just shouldered past him into the room.

“Oh sure, Kyllian, I’d love for you to come in,” Aedion muttered, closing the door behind his friend. The look Kyllian gave him was unamused, to say the least.

Presenting the box, Kyllian’s face was serious. Aedion glanced down but didn’t take it. “What is that?”

“Twenty six years old and you’re still unfamiliar with the concept of a gift? Just open it and see.”

Hesitant, Aedion took the box. Flipping the latches, the small metal hinges squeaked in protest as he lifted the lid. 

Inside the box, nestled on a folded cloth, was an ornate dagger and a rough-carved wooden wolf.

They were the two personal possessions Aedion had kept with him through years in the war camps, those and the Sword of Orynth which wasn’t strictly  _ his.  _ He had assumed them lost to war and time since his capture, but evidently Kyllian had been holding on to them.

“Where did you find these?” he breathed.

“I found them with all your things after your arrest. When you were rescued I figured I’d keep them safe, give them back once you returned to the Bane. There was never a good time with the war going on, then I lost my chance for a few years when you stayed in Orynth and I left with the Bane again. Then I got your wedding invitation and… here we are.”

Aedion’s fingertips traced the points of the wolf’s ears, the ridged embossing on the dagger’s handle. He didn’t know how to say thank you for something that meant so much, the usual words seemed too paltry. Instead, he could only ask, “How the hell did these survive two years in a war camp?”

Kyllian tilted his head back and laughed. “ _ That’s _ your only question? It’s an ironwood box — tougher than steel, they say. Other than that, just dumb luck.” His expression, though, softened as tears filled Aedion’s eyes.

Aedion rubbed at his face, willing the tears to go away, but Kyllian only shook his head. “I’ve seen you cry before, Aedion, you don’t have to be the Big Bad Stoic General. I knew you when you were some temperamental sixteen year old kid.”

“Don’t say it like  _ that,  _ it  makes you sound like those old relatives who wax poetic about when you were too young to remember them.”

“I wouldn’t know, but fair enough.”

Aedion carefully closed the box in his hands and placed it on the wardrobe, turning back to Kyllian with a smile. “So, a blacksmith.”

“ _ So,  _ a shifter,” Kyllian shot back, adding, “In all honesty, you went up a step or two.”

Aedion frowned. “Don’t say that.”

“I’ll say what I like, because that woman can turn into a fucking wyvern.”

‘Yeah,” Aedion sighed, “I don’t win arguments anymore.”

Kyllian arched one brow. “Did you  _ ever?”  _ Aedion swallowed his snarl of protest — he wasn’t wrong.

“Was it ever weird with Aris? Since you’re a commander and he’s not even an officer?”

The face Kyllian directed at Aedion made him wonder if maybe this was a sore topic, but he answered readily enough. “That was a concern, but since he’s technically not a soldier and I’m not the one paying his wages, there’s no problem.”

Aedion’s tone shifted to something far more serious. “And he’s good for you?”

Kyllian laughed and tried to brush off the question, but when Aedion persisted he gave in with a genuine softness to his voice. “Very. He’s seen his fair share of shit in his lifetime, just like the rest of us, but he’s not so broken as-”

“As me?”

Kyllian shot Aedion a look. “As  _ me.” _

Despite what he said, the unspoken words were there. Kyllian and Aedion had both been broken enough that their edges fit together, but it wasn’t meant to be a perfect match, not like the kind Aedion had found with Lysandra and Kyllian had, just maybe, found with Aris.

Kyllian shook his head like he was shaking off the dark mood that had fallen over them. “You’re getting married tomorrow, we need to be celebrating! You haven’t had a bachelor’s party yet, huh?”

“You can’t have a party with two people.”

“Who says it’s just us?”

“You’re not inviting the cadre to a damned bachelor’s party. Besides, Fenrys is always down for anything, but good luck even getting Lorcan two steps out the door.”

Kyllian shot him a grin. “Nobody’s immune to my charms, Ashryver. Be ready at eight on the dot, I’ll be back.”

“Wait!” Aedion called, just before Kyllian pulled the door closed behind him. He peeked back around the doorway with a questioning look. “Did you really think I might have cheated on you and had Evangeline?”

Laughing hard enough tears came to his eyes, Kyllian shook his head. “I was confused when she said daughter but-” He paused to take a deep breath, still chuckling slightly, “-but I figured you’d have been absurdly young if she really was  _ your  _ child. Besides, why would you ever be unfaithful when no woman could fuck you like I did?”

He ducked from the room before an outraged Aedion could find something to throw at him, his laughter still audible through the door.

~

“Why is Aleya at my bachelor’s party?” Aedion felt compelled to ask. When she kicked his shin under the table he revised his question. “Not that I don’t want her here, but aren’t they typically attended by…well, men?”

Kyllian lifted one shoulder in answer. “Ask her, she begged me to come.”

When Aedion sent her a questioning glance she only shrugged. “I don’t know the women in this castle, but I do know you and Kyllian. Besides, I want to celebrate with  _ you,  _ my friend. Lysandra seems like a kick-ass woman who you’re lucky to have, but I didn’t fight side by side with her for six years.”

Fenrys raised his glass in a salute at her little speech, and Aedion couldn’t help but be touched.

“So,” she continued, leaning back in her chair, “just consider me another one of the men for a few hours.”

“You’re certainly lacking a lady-like disposition,” Lorcan murmured into his drink. She directed an expert glare at the Demi-Fae (a bold move where Aedion was concerned) but seeing this, Lorcan only glared right back. “It wasn’t an insult, only a comment.”

“You beasts are ill mannered,” Aleya hissed, directing her malice at the five Fae sitting at the table. Despite the anger in her voice, her eyes were laughing.

“I like you,” Fenrys chuckled, Rowan only rolling his eyes from his place squished between Dorian and the wall. Aleya pinned the White Wolf with a stare.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with me,” she purred. Next to Aedion, Aris choked on his ale, and on  _ his _ other side, Kyllian was covering his mouth to stifle laughter.

Vaughan, level-headed as always, interrupted in his low, quiet voice. “I think that’s enough, considering we’re not yet an hour in.” Fenrys, who had opened his mouth with what was no doubt a clever retort, shut it again with a slightly sulky look at Vaughan.

“Kyllian, remind me why I let you do this?” Aedion asked, catching his friend’s eye.

“You didn’t let me, I made you.”

“Ah. And  _ how  _ did you get Lorcan and Rowan to come?”

“I told you-”

“Nobody’s immune to your charms. Sure thing, Abbas.”

“Should I tell Lysandra that Kyllian’s joining this marriage?” Aris cut in, “because you two bicker like an old married couple.”

“Try putting up with it for six years straight,” Aleya added.

“I can almost guarantee Rowan and Aelin are worse than Kyllian and I ever were.”

Rowan gave Aedion his best  _ watch yourself  _ glare. Aedion was beginning to get used to that look, unfortunately.

Fenrys interrupted, then. “Okay, okay. Before we start up again, I propose a game.” A groan went up around the table as a dangerous grin flickered across Fenry’s beautiful face. “Have some faith in me, please. It’s called truth… or drink.”

“You might need to explain the rules. It sounds pretty complicated,” Lorcan said, deadpan. It took everyone a moment to realize the brooding male was making a joke.

As the table erupted into laughter Fenrys’ gaze flicked over to Lorcan. “You just volunteered to go first. Ask a question and everyone else has to answer it or drink.” By now, even Rowan was smiling slightly.

The questions ranged from mundane (weapon of choice?) to raunchy (top or bottom?) to downright explicit (most sexual partners in one night?)

This last one was from Aleya who only smirked, content in the knowledge that she wouldn’t have to answer it. Vaughan and Lorcan answered ‘two’ while Rowan, much to the table’s surprise, just gave them a raised brow and answer of “one.”

“Boring!” Fenrys jeered, wincing as Aleya evidently stomped down on his foot. “Sorry, I’m not judging.”

“Why, what about you, boyo?”

Rowan looked like he dreaded the answer even as he asked; Fenrys shrugged and replied, “three.”

Dorian, Aris, and Kyllian offered up answers of two then Aedion, last in line, looked around the table with a faint grimace. “Four at the same time.”

“Four,” Lorcan repeated slowly.

“Yes, four. Four consenting adults who all knew what they were getting into. It happened and I’m not ashamed of it.” 

A moment of silence followed, interrupted by a slightly tipsy Aleya declaring from across the table, “Now  _ that,  _ I’d pay to see.” The quiet broke, and as Kyllian nudged Dorian into asking another question, Aedion received a look of grudging respect from Fenrys. A look that he pointedly ignored.

Clearing his throat, Dorian settled back in his chair with a lazy smile slipping up his face. “Who was the person you lost your virginity to?”

If Aedion didn’t know every line of Kyllian’s body like the back of his own hand, he’d have missed the faint line of tension that appeared in his shoulders. Aedion’s eyes met Aris’ and he could see the slight worry there that said he knew about his partner’s history. Aleya met his eyes too, though he was unsure if she knew exactly what had happened or only had an idea. Either way, Kyllian shook his head imperceptibly, his message clear.  _ I’m fine, not a word. _

The Cadre’s answers were all similar enough — some youthful romance of theirs long buried by the centuries. Aleya had apparently had a “tryst,” (as she called it) with a soldier in a war camp. Aedion and Aris’ stories were alike; past lovers they’d been briefly involved with. When Kyllian’s turn came he just took a gulp of his drink and didn’t say a word, as the rules allowed. His pass was accepted with an easy shrug from Dorian.

When it was Aedion’s turn to think up a question he eyed up who he sat with and asked, “number of times you’ve been with the same sex.” He figured between all the immortals, in all their hundreds of years, there had to be at least a few times.

Dorian’s tone was hesitant. “Define ‘been with.’”

Aedion considered for a moment before answering, “I don’t mean you went all the way, but if either of you lost any articles of clothing…”

Aleya had zero, Kyllian and Aris both drank rather than try to count, and Dorian had one time under his belt, though he wouldn’t specify how far they’d gone. Rowan, Lorcan, and Vaughan all said none, much to the table’s surprise.

“You mean to tell me in several hundred years, you never decided to spice things up? Never wanted a quick change of pace? A little variation?” Aleya’s questions set the rest of them laughing as Lorcan scowled.

“If I recall, you  _ also  _ answered none.”

“Yeah, but I’m twenty five years old. You living relics are more than four times my age.”

“All right, all right,” Kyllian interjected, “What about you, Fenrys?”

The Fae gave it a moment of thought. “Seven or eight, at best guess.” Catching the odd look Rowan was giving him, shook his head in confusion. “What? Considering I’m almost two hundred years old, that’s not a lot, and if a male’s attractive, well…”

Vaughan looked like he was trying not to laugh at his friend. “I  _ can _ objectively tell you that there’s an unreasonable number of attractive people sitting around this table, but I’ve never wanted so much as a peck on the cheek from any of them. Do you think there could be some fine line between appreciation and attraction that maybe you-”

“Okay, fine, point taken,” Fenrys interrupted gruffly with an impatient wave of his hand.

Even Lorcan cracked a smile at that, teeth flashing white against his darker complexion.

~

Kyllian had seen many sides to Aedion over the past ten years.

He’d known the headstrong sixteen year old with anger oozing from every word.

He’d know the arrogant warrior who disrespected a king and laughed his way through life.

He’d known the General, the solid, dependable force, brave and tough and stone-faced.

He’d even known  _ Aedion _ as he was without the posturing and jokes; loyal, stubborn, and scared as hell.

Now, it was like he was finally stepping into his role of Prince, into the royal blood that ran through his veins. As he walked down the aisle towards the woman he loved, for once the years weren’t weighing on his shoulders, darkening the gold in his eyes.

A dark green tunic with silver trim — the colors of Terrassen — was tight over his powerful chest, a white wolf’s pelt draped over his shoulders. His hair, usually hanging loose, had been pulled back into a simple braid. He looked like a gods-damned king.

And Lysandra, where she stood tall and regal at the head of the great hall, could have been a queen. She was, Kyllian could admit, heart-stoppingly beautiful, though it could never be mistaken for an innocent beauty. Danger and power lurked beneath her green eyes just as claws lurked beneath her fingertips. 

Now, though, she was smiling softly. She only had eyes for Aedion and he, only for her. As they said their vows and made the small cut across the palm, signifying their families’ blood now being one, Kyllian resolutely ignored the tears that threatened to fall. Aris nudged him with his shoulder, silently mocking, but he was in the same boat.

The party after the ceremony was far rowdier than that echoing stone hall had been. A long table was arrayed with food and drinks but it was a casual affair, with no set meal time and everyone swooping in to grab food between dances. Torches that never burned out flickered around the periphery, warming the autumn air and providing just enough light to see by. A small band was playing lively music, jigs and rousing marching songs and anything else that was requested.

Kyllian danced with every damn person at that party. Even some serving maids and other castle staff were there, as though they’d been given a night off to celebrate. 

Aleya flew past him a couple times, staying for half a song or so before flitting away, graceful as ever. He found Evangeline at one point, twirling her around to a jaunty tune until she grew dizzy and swayed on her feet, laughter spilling from her lips. There was a sudden, shocking moment where Kyllian found himself bent backwards, almost upside down. The hand splayed across his back proved to be Fenrys’, the male just grinned down at him with those unnatural canines and said, “Commander,” before righting Kyllian and slipping away to take Aleya’s hand in dance.

Later, for nearly a full song’s length, Kyllian found himself dancing with the Lady of Perranth, her dark eyes filled with amusement. “Lorcan refuses to dance,” she laughed, nodding to where her husband stood off to the side, talking quietly with Vaughan.

Throughout the night, no matter who they got pulled into dancing with, Aedion and Lysandra always gravitated back towards each other like they couldn’t bear to be apart. When the night grew later and the songs slowed, they stayed just as close, Lysandra tucked under Aedion’s chin, arms around each other’s waists.

~

They managed to make it until three chimes past midnight.

That was when Aedion glanced down at Lys and the gentle, loving smile that had stayed on her face all night was suddenly edged with something… mischievous. Holy gods, this woman would be the death of him.

He leaned down to murmur in her ear, “what do you say we try and escape without notice?”

“We can try,” she laughed, “but I don’t think we’ll be very successful.”

“In that case…”

Lysandra backed a step away at the glimmer in his eyes. “Aedion, what are you-” she was cut off by her own growl of outrage as he swept her legs up and lifted her into his arms.

“Subtlety wasn’t going to work, was it? A dramatic exit is the next best thing.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she hissed, but there was no real heat behind her words. Revelers parted for them, several wolf whistles and laughing jeers following them back to the castle. Aedion couldn’t see, but he was almost positive Lysandra had sent them a rude gesture over his shoulder.

Kicking the door to their room shut behind him, Aedion finally put Lysandra down onto her own two feet. Lysandra. His  _ wife. _ The word was a novelty, it made a smile slip up his face.

“What?” she asked, though she was grinning just the same as him. A couple of lovesick fools, they looked like.

“Just thinking about how I was right.”

“About what?”

“That day on the beach. Lady Lysandra Ashryver  _ does  _ have a nice ring to it.”

She smacked his arm. “ _ That’s  _ what you’re thinking about? Help me out of this rutting dress. The sooner the better, too, because it turns out you clean up pretty well and I don’t know how I even made it this late into the night without jumping you.”

“Of course, my dearest wife,” he said, mostly to see her reaction as he set to work on the dress’ clasps. She turned with a raised brow.

” _ Husband,”  _ she countered, slightly mocking. 

Aedion’s mouth went dry. “I certainly like the sound of that.”

Lysandra’s laugh was wicked. “Do you, now?”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is by FAR the longest I’ve ever done, and it’s finally finished! Let’s see if I even remember how to write other characters after this!
> 
> But seriously, a huge thank you to all of y’all for the Kudos and the wonderful comments. I’m glad I could make these characters and this story mean as much (or at least almost as much) to some of you as they now do to me.
> 
> I’ll still be hanging around and writing some shorter fics for the ToG/ACOTAR fandoms. Unfortunately, you’re not rid of me yet.


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